


5.27 Zero Regrets

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventures, College, F/M, Family, Friendship, Jealousy, Marriage, Romance, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 113,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: Fall 2017: Newlyweds Wendy and Dipper are beginning college; so is their housemate Mabel, who is depressed by being on the opposite side of the country from her boyfriend. We'll look in month to month to see how they all cope with everyday stresses . . . and anything weird that might pop up. Oh, we may also look in on others. For instance, Ford's up to something mysterious with the very competent Agent Hazard. Haven't seen her in a while. Oh, of course, there's gonna be married Wendip!
Relationships: Mabel Pines/Teek O'Grady (OC), Wendy Corduroy/Dipper Pines
Comments: 113
Kudos: 34





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of the characters; both are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of Alex Hirsch. I make no money from these stories but write just for fun and in the hope that other fans enjoy reading them. I will ask, please, do not copy my stories elsewhere on the Internet. I work hard on these, and they mean a lot to me. Thank you.

**_Author's Note:_ ** _Dipper and Wendy are married, soon college will begin for them and for Mabel, and the time has come to leave Gravity Falls for a while. However, Mabel would never forgive us if we didn't follow them at least through the rest of 2017, when Dipper and Wendy will have a church ceremony recommitting their vows. That's because Mabel's planning it. Let's check in on the gang from month to month. . . ._

* * *

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1 - SEPTEMBER**

**_Part 1: Labor Day Weekend_ **

Mabel didn't exactly mope, but in the days immediately following her eighteenth birthday, she worked out the last days of her 2017 summer employment at the Shack with less than her usual enthusiasm and verve. Soos and Melody tried hard to cheer her up, offering random treats at surprising times, easing up on a few of the already flexible work rules, and suggesting things she and Candy might be interested in doing around town.

Mabel was grateful for their kindness, but—the truth was that even more than her sister-in-law Wendy and brother Dipper, she was already missing her boyfriend, Teek O'Grady.

However, facing weeks of separation, she and he had quickly worked out—and she couldn't believe she was admitting this even to herself—had worked out an actual _schedule_. A _plan_! When he heard about that, Dipper would be proud of her. And it had not been all that easy, either!

The biggest problem Mabel had to deal with was that Georgia and California (and Oregon, too, of course) had a three-hour time difference. When it was noon in Atlanta, it was only nine A.M. in Gravity Falls and Crescent City, California.

That made arranging times for regular communications problematic. Having studied their college schedules, Teek and Mabel had decided that once classes began for both of them, the ideal time for face-timing would be nine P.M. each weekday night for him, six P.M. for her. He had one evening class, but it ended at 8:30 his time, and Mabel had no night classes, though she hoped to try out for a play and decided that, more than likely, if she got cast in it her rehearsals and performances wouldn't begin until 7:30 her time. Then on Friday they could set the time for Saturday, and on Saturday for Sunday, and presto, they'd covered the week!

Teek's freshman term would begin on Tuesday, September 5, and Mabel's classes the following day. That was when they would try out their phone schedule. But before then, on the second and third of the month, the Saturday and Sunday before Labor Day, she called him any time she wanted, which worked out to about once every two hours.

True, she had to find time in between being busy—for the Labor Day weekend, Soos had decided to keep the Shack open on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, the actual holiday. Normally the weekend break for them occurred on Sunday and Monday, but those were the heaviest tourist days of the whole year. At least on Sunday they wouldn't open until half-past noon. Soos had also extended the hours—the Shack's business operations normally ran from nine A.M. to six P.M, but for Saturday, Sunday, and Monday it would stay open until eight in the evening.

And even though a herd of tourists flooded the place on Saturday, September 2, whenever a brief lull occurred, Mabel phoned Teek to find out how his move into the dorm was going. It was always going OK, though for some reason rather slowly.

"How's the snack bar doing?" Teek asked at 1:15 that afternoon, possibly attempting to move the conversation beyond Mabel's repeated rotation of "What does your room look like? What are you gonna do tomorrow? Do you miss me?"

Answering the unexpected question from Teek, Mabel said, "We're getting by. It's real busy, but Soos hired Mrs. Willet to come over and pinch-cook for you. She's pretty good. We're using your burger recipe, and hers are close to yours, but somehow not as juicy. Oh, wait a minute, I have a customer now." Mabel turned the phone so Teek could see the good-looking young guy who had come up to the register with a tray of two burgers, large fries, and drinks.

She rang up they boy's purchase, he paid in cash, she returned his change, and he asked, "Hey, thanks. Uh, by the way, is the lake anywhere close to here?"

"Oh, sure," she said. "Drive back to town, go straight at the first traffic light, then at the second one take a right, and then just follow the signs. It's about three miles from the turn."

"Is it open for swimming?"

"Yes, it is! You have a great view of the Falls from a few angles, and the beach is open. No lifeguard, swim at your own risk, but if you don't go out real far, it's pretty safe. This is a good time of year—the water's finally warmed up! There's fishing, too, you can rent rods and reels or even a rowboat in the visitors' center. There's bathrooms and changing rooms, too. Oh, and if you have some time after, be sure to visit the History Museum downtown. It's free, but they take donations."

The guy—with a bush of brown hair bleached blond by the sun, he looked like a surfer—gave her a wide, white smile. "Thanks. My girl and I will check it out."

"Both of you will enjoy it! You're so lucky."

As a cute girl joined the customer, Mabel swung the phone around to show Teek that all of the ten tables in the snack bar were occupied. In fact, the guy and his girlfriend went over and just stood at the condiments counter to eat their lunch. "Told you we were busy," she said to Teek.

"You weren't kidding," Teek said. "That's about as slammed as I've ever seen it."

"Got that right," she said. "Work, work, work. Gonna be crazy busy up through Monday. Then I'm off Tuesday so I can pack up and drive to Crescent City before night. What are you doing right now?"

"Same as the first three times we talked, still unpacking and moving into the dorm," Teek said. "Oh, I met my roommate just now, Leslie."

"Say what?" she demanded in a voice loud enough to make the diners look around, startled.

"Leslie's a _guy_ ," Teek said hastily. "Leslie Santego. He's from Tampa, Florida, and he wants to be a screenwriter. He reminds me a little of Dwight Deener—you know him?"

"Don't think so."

"He was in my class at GFHS, big guy, football player. Anyway, I'll send you a photo of Leslie later. Oh, almost forgot, he's asked me to call him Les."

"As long as he's a guy, that's OK," Mabel said. "Wait, is the _dorm_ co-ed?"

"Kind of. The bottom two floors are all-female, the top two all-male. I'm in 302." He lowered his voice. "Since I got here first, I grabbed the bed closest to the window. Anyhow, the girls aren't supposed to use the blue elevators and stairs and we can't use the red ones, so—not _exactly_ coed. You don't have to worry."

Mabel grunted. "OK, sorry if I sounded jealous." She sighed. "I'm just missing you."

Quietly, Teek said, "I'm missing you, too."

Mabel straightened. "Got another couple of customers coming up. I'll call you back in a couple hours."

"OK, I should have my side of the room squared away by then. See you!"

Mabel chortled, "LUL!"

Leslie must have been in their dorm room, because Teek dropped his voice to a whisper: "Love you lots, too!"

"Aww," said the granny-lady who'd just brought up a tray of hotdogs, hamburgers, fries, and sodas and set it on the counter. "Your boyfriend? That's sweet. Young lady, I have three grandchildren, and all the tables are full—"

"It's a nice day," Mabel said as she started to ring up the purchase. "Would they like to eat outside at one of the picnic tables?"

"Oh, yes, perfect, thank you! Is there a charge for that?"

Mabel had to chuckle as she ran the lady's credit card. "No, not at all! They're out on the front lawn, just pick one. Oh, there's a big trash can chained to a tree out there, so please toss your wrappers there and be sure to put the lid back on. That keeps raccoons away. The tables are absolutely free, so be our guest!"

Stan wasn't nearby to hear that last bit, next two customers also opted for the picnic tables. The height of the lunch rush had passed, but Mabel stayed busy at the register. It was a hard, though profitable, day. Though ordinarily the snack bar would have closed at two, for the weekend its hours, had also been extended. At three, finally, Mabel closed out the register and asked Melody, at the main gift-shop register, if she could have some break time.

"Sure," Melody said, giving her a motherly smile. "I know these last few days have been a strain for you. Knock off early. Go take a nap if you need to."

"Thanks!"

Mabel first took Tripper out into the back yard for a little stick-chasing exercise. She could hear laughter coming from around the side of the house, where a few of the last set of diners had occupied the picnic tables. After Tripper brought the stick back one last time and dropped it to the ground and then stood on it—his way of saying, "Game's over!"—she led him back inside.

Then, instead of going down the hall to her room—formerly the guest room—Mabel climbed the stairs to the attic bedroom and stretched out on her old bed. Tripper hopped up to cuddle against her.

She lay on her side, gazing at Dipper's bed—now with no sheets or pillow, but covered by one of Abuelita's colorful patchwork quilts. "Hope you and Wendy are happy, Brobro. I miss those days," she murmured. She closed her eyes and thought of Teek. Scratching Tripper's ears, she said, "I miss _these_ days, too. Hey, Universe! Mabel was not meant to be alone!"

She called Teek one more time and caught him just moments before a required dinner in the college cafeteria, where the students were going to be introduced to the chairs of the various college departments, get the student handbooks, and so on. He chatted briefly as he walked, telling Mabel that Les seemed like a pretty laid-back guy for a jock, that no, he hadn't met any southern belles, and that he would call her the next day about nine A.M. her time.

Then he hung up and Mabel felt alone again. Technically, of course, she was not alone at all. Tripper was keeping her company. Just downstairs, Melody and Soos were on duty that very minute, and Gideon and Ulva had come in as well. Candy Chiu was only a phone call away. Grunkle Stan was taking a day off from the Shack—like Mabel, he'd been very busy with the preparations for surprising Wendy and Dipper on their wedding day. He was probably lazing at home, but was next door to the Shack, just down the hill.

But lying there in her old bedroom, Mabel was missing Dipper, Wendy, and Teek.

Hmm. Mabel looked at the clock: 3:20 P.M. on Saturday. Dipper and Wendy had been in the college house now for almost twenty-four hours. She debated calling them just to check in. Surely by now they would have, um, settled in. And down.

Still, she was dying to know how their honeymoon had been so far. After all, sooner or later she and Teek would have a honeymoon, too, and a girl could always use a few tips.

But . . . nah. Maybe Dipper or Wendy would call her. If they did, they'd probably wait until after eight that evening, when the Shack was due to close. Since Mabel had the rest of the afternoon off, she thought about possibly driving up to visit her pigs, but—it was at least an hour and twenty minutes, round-trip, and . . . she was tired. Mabel yawned, turned on her other side, facing the wall, with Tripper's back warm against hers, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dipper did check in with her the next day, catching her just before lunch, when she was getting ready for the Shack's special, rare, Sunday business hours. Everything was going great, they were having a fine time, they hadn't been to the campus, they hadn't explored the town, they had just sort of hung around the house. None of her business what they'd been busy with! Wendy took the phone and said hi to her, and then added, "Tell you lots more when we see you on Tuesday evening! Be careful on the drive over, there's a little highway construction on the first bridge south of Bend. Bye now!"

Wendy turned off the phone and handed it to Dipper, carefully. "Don't drop it in the water, dude!"

Dipper stood and reached to set the phone on the patio table next to the hot tub. Wendy impishly slapped his butt cheek as he leaned over. He splashed back down. "Hey!"

She laughed. "Sorry, couldn't resist! Come closer and settle down." She sighed happily. "This feels so good!"

"This" was the spa hot tub built for two on the rear deck of the house that would be their home for the next four years. The deck looked out and down over the large fenced-in back yard and, beyond that, the dense treetops in a state forest reserve. "Hey, Dip, what are we gonna do this afternoon?"

"Mm," he said. "How about after a while we drive into town and check out a restaurant for dinner?"

"You already tired of my cooking?" she teased. In fact, the two had done an absolute minimum of cooking the previous day—though on Friday afternoon, Dipper had fired up the backyard grill to cook them a couple of very tasty steaks while Wendy baked two big Idaho potatoes, but for breakfast and lunch on Friday and Saturday, they ate leftovers from the wedding reception, thoughtfully bundled up for them by Mabel. That morning, Wendy had cooked up a cheesy breakfast casserole, and for lunch they'd had soup (canned) and a salad. Not exactly haute cuisine.

"No, I'm not tired of it," Dipper said, hugging her. "It's just that we've kinda been too busy to do any cooking."

"I think I enjoy what we've been doing a lot better than fine dining."

"I'll agree with that," Dipper said. He kissed her.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "This is so relaxing."

"Yep. Hey, Wen, on Tuesday we should be finished with orientation by noon, so we can leave the campus—"

"We probably ought to go book shopping, first."

"Well, OK, but also if we can work it in, we need to go to the DMV. You still have to apply for your California driver's license. You took care of the insurance, right?"

"Oh, yeah. My insurance complies with California requirements, and I've made sure the Green Machine meets California emissions standard. Just the driver's license and the plates left to go. Come on Dip, let's not start on all that just yet. There's a twenty-day window, and we've just got today and tomorrow until we have to dive into all that college business."

"Well—honeymooning _is_ a lot more pleasant," Dipper said. The tub wasn't exactly cramped, but it was pleasurably cozy, and the two sat side by side, pressing against each other.

 _How many times now?_ Wendy asked him telepathically.

— _Were we supposed to keep score?_ _Let me think. It's all so great that it blends together. Nine times? Ten?_

"Dude!" she said, laughing aloud. "More than that! I lost _count_ at ten. It's at least thirteen!"

"OK, let me see. Last night and then again this morning . . . right, thirteen, I think," Dipper said.

"Uh-oh! No, no, no, no! Totally unacceptable! Unlucky!" Wendy said. "We gotta squeeze in at least one more time to get past the bad luck."

"Well, I suppose we can drain the tub this afternoon and clean it and refill it tomorrow," Dipper said.

"Nice warm water, a sunny day, nobody anywhere who could spy on us, and my favorite guy and me and not a stitch between us—yeah, we can make this work!"

They embraced. With only a little effort, um well, we'll say it did work.

Very well, in fact.

Ah, honeymooners.

* * *

To be continued


	2. September - Housemates

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**2: Housemates**

_Tuesday, September 5_

"There she is!" Wendy said, tilting her head as a car rolled into the driveway outside and honked once. "Go help her in with her stuff." She closed the oven door—she had been checking on the dish cooking there—and reached for a kitchen towel to wipe her hands.

"Nobody helped _us_ in," Dipper said, but he went through the hallway with the washer and dryer, the space that Stan had identified as a mud room, and opened the door into the garage. Out in the driveway, Mabel had just pressed the button to roll up the big garage door, and even as it clanked up, she rolled Helen Wheels forward about two feet, but then braked.

Waving, Dipper walked out to meet her as she rolled down her window. "Hey!" she yelled. "No fair! You two have hogged the garage! Where am I supposed to park?"

Dipper came up to the driver's window. Tripper, in the back seat, woofed a greeting. "That's why there's a big wide concrete apron. There's enough room for you to back into it."

Mabel gave him a pop-eyed look that combined astonishment and outrage. "Park _outside_? But Helen Wheels will be all exposed to the elements!"

"This is California," he pointed out. "We don't have all that many elements. No snow, not even all that much rain. You used to park in front of the garage back home!"

"Yeah, but then I was a teen living with Mom and Dad and now I'm a homeowner—"

"No, you're not. We're renting from Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, remember, not owning."

With an exasperated huff, Mabel grumbled, "OK, I'll park here, but just for tonight, and if Helen Wheels gets stolen, you owe me a new car!"

"I'll take that risk. Come on, Wendy and I have dinner almost ready."

Mabel perked up. "What are we having?"

"Wendy's made lasagna—"

"I gotta get parked! Let's get a move on, Brobro!"

She easily backed into the space, then popped the trunk and hopped out, opening the back door to let Tripper out. "BRB, Broseph! I'm gonna introduce Tripper to the back yard. He probably needs to pee."

Tripper stood on his hind legs, and Dipper ruffled his ears. Then the dog and Mabel trotted into the house, Mabel saying "You're gonna love it, Tripper!"

It took Mabel four trips and Dipper six to unload all of Mabel's luggage to her room. By the time he finished, Mabel was sitting at the table, watching Wendy at the stove, and the two were talking away a mile a minute. "So was it hard?" she asked.

"I'd say it was pretty hard," Wendy said. "But you gotta suffer through it. You'll find out."

"Uh—" Dipper said.

"Orientation, Dip!" Wendy said. "They had us running all over campus—ID cards, parking stickers, computer accounts, finding classrooms—"

"Oh," Dipper said, relieved. "Yeah, definitely _difficult_."

"Dipper, how about taking care of the garlic bread?" Wendy asked. "Mabel, what do you want to drink?"

"Lemonade!"

"No lemonade," Dipper said. "We'll have to see about buying some if you want it. We've started a grocery list, so I'll add that. Meanwhile, how about one glass of wine and one of water on the side?"

"Wa-wa-wa-wine?" Mabel asked.

"We're home," Dipper said patiently. "In California, it's legal for eighteen-year-olds to drink at home. You're not planning on driving any more tonight, are you?"

"Nope! Bring on the vino!"

Wendy worked on the salad while Dipper sliced bread and spread it with butter and sprinkled garlic powder on it. Glancing at Mabel, Wendy said, "Hey, Mabes, do us a favor and set the table, please."

"Work, work, work," she complained, but she got up, found the plates and salad bowls, then the silverware. "What about glasses?" she asked.

"Wine glasses on the top shelf, cabinet against the wall," Wendy said. "Water glasses on the bottom shelf."

When Mabel had the table set, the doggy door flapped and Tripper came in, panting and looking happy. "Guess he likes the back yard," Dipper said.

"Oh, yeah!" Mabel confirmed. "First thing, he ran all around the fence, checking out the boundaries. Hang on, I gotta give him food and water. Where are his bowls?"

"I think I put them down on the floor at the foot of your bed," Dipper said. "There's a new bag of his dry food there in the cabinet next to the dishwasher."

"Got part of a bag in that great big tote. I'll find it!"

She ran to her room and then came back with a couple of ceramic bowls, one red, one blue. "Feed him on the porch, you think?" she asked.

"Sure," Dipper said. "Only if he doesn't finish his food, be sure to bring the bowl back inside. We don't want to attract critters."

"The back yard is fenced!"

Wendy said "Raccoons and possums and even coyotes don't mind fences, Mabes. And we don't want to have a bunch of ants." The timer dinged. "Dipper, pop in the garlic bread for toasting. Mabel, hurry up, dinner's almost ready!"

Mabel put the bowl of food on the porch. Tripper ran to it and started to eat with eager smacks while Mabel filled the water bowl and took it out.

By the time she got to the table, Dipper and Wendy had served up squares of lasagna, together with tossed salads and bread plates of toasted garlicky goodness. The wine glasses held deep purple wine.

"Only half full?" Mabel demanded.

"About four ounces each," Dipper said. "Make it last. You don't gulp it. You sip it. This is Schiava, by the way—"

"Hey, that reminds me, Grunkle Stan bought you guys some expensive champagne! Did it help?"

"We didn't need an anesthetic," Wendy said with a grin. "We actually haven't even opened it yet. We'll save it for a special occasion."

"Mm!" Mabel said. She had just taken a tentative sip of the wine. "Hello, sweetie! What's this made from, cotton candy?"

"Special grapes. It's a sweet Italian wine," Dipper said. "The guy at the wine store said you'd probably like it."

"Don't get addicted," Wendy warned. "We've just got this bottle and the champagne, and we can't buy any more until next spring."

"Huh?" Mabel asked.

"Graunty Lorena went with me and bought this for us," Dipper explained. "Wendy has to be 21 to buy wine legally in California. So this is just special-occasion stuff."

"OK," Wendy said. "Salad dressing. We have Italian, ranch, Russian . . .."

Mabel eagerly ate three helpings of the lasagna, praised the garlic bread, finished off her glass of wine, and after the meal she first brought in the dog's food dish, licked clean, and then his water bowl. She found a place in the corner for the water bowl, showed it to Tripper, and explained that was where it would be when he got thirsty. And she reminded him he could use the doggy door if he needed to excuse himself.

"But remember to latch it before you go to bed," Dipper warned her.

"No critters allowed inside, huh?"

"Right."

By then it was six P.M, and Mabel went to her room to face-time Teek. Dipper and Wendy cleaned up and loaded the dishwasher and then relaxed in front of the TV in the living-room part of the great room.

Mabel joined them after half an hour. "So," she said, sitting next to Wendy, "did you two enjoy the hot tub, hmm?"

"It was a lot of fun," Wendy said coolly. "Can't use it all that much, though. We have to watch the water use here. This is kinda a dry area."

"How's Teek?" Dipper asked, trying to switch the conversation to a new track.

"He's good," Mabel said, whipping out her phone. She flicked through some photos and then held it up. "This is Teek and his roommate. His name's Les. He's kinda hunky. Teek says Les already has lined up a girlfriend."

Dipper looked at the photo. Teek was smiling, and beside him a burly guy grinned at the camera. Then there were shots of the guys' dorm room—pretty standard, two beds, movie posters on the walls, two compact desks, and that was about it. Then shots of the campus—the classroom buildings one- and two-story brick structures, the dorms four or six stories tall, a production building that looked like a Quonset hut and that—Mabel said—included two small TV production studios and a larger movie studio.

"He got into Beginning Screenwriting and History of Cinema 1," Mabel said. "He's real excited about those two. Oh, how about you guys?"

"We pre-enrolled," Wendy said. "We have three classes together."

"When do your courses start?"

“Tomorrow,” Dipper said. Let’s see . . . on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, our first class begins at nine. The we have one at ten and our last one’s at one PM. We’re out by two. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we start at nine-thirty and our last class is from one to two-fifteen.”

"Cool," Mabel said. "I've planned my schedule so my classes are back-to-back, and I'm out every day by two. Good, because Tripper won't be so lonely."

"Why back to back?" Dipper asked.

"Because that's the way it was in high school!" Mabel said. "It's what I'm used to."

"Are you gonna be able to get to class that early every day?" Wendy asked.

"Oh, sure. I'll get up at like six-fifteen, leave here—how long does it take to drive from here to Olmsted?"

"I'd allow half an hour," Dipper said. "It's not that far, but traffic might slow you down."

"OK, so leave here at seven-thirty. Yeah. That's do-able. Hey, are you guys gonna run every day?"

"We'll see. We haven't started yet," Dipper said. "We kind of have to see how traffic is. Or there may be a way to run back in the forest preserve. If not, I found out that we can run at the track on campus. We can be there at eight, get in an hour of running, and then shower and change in the gym."

"The track coach wants Dipper to go out for the team," Wendy said. "He knew about how great Dip and the Piedmont team were in the state high-school track and field competitions."

"Do it!" Mabel said. "Do it, do it, do it!"

"I'm thinking about it," Dipper said. "I'll at least go to try-outs next Wednesday afternoon."

"Good," Mabel said. "'cause I'm definitely gonna audition for one of the plays at Olmsted! They do a main-stage production and a black-box one every semester!"

"Black box?" Wendy asked.

"Small theater," Mabel told her. "Kind of like a practice theater, small auditorium, seats like a hundred people. Main stage is for five hundred or about that."

They talked on into the evening, but around ten, Mabel yawned and said, "Long drive. Guess it's time to turn in. I'm gonna go out into the back yard with Tripper."

"Turn on the porch lights," Dipper advised. "Wendy and I made up your bed for you, so all you have to do is unpack—"

"Nah, I'll just set the suitcases on the floor," Mabel said. "Time to unpack tomorrow."

Dipper and Wendy were ready to turn in as well.

Ten minutes later, Mabel tapped on their door. "Hey! You two busy? I need a little help."

Dipper got out of bed, pulled his jeans back on, and rolled his eyes. "Be back in a minute."

"I'll save your spot," Wendy said.

Dipper opened the door. "What's up?" he asked Mabel.

"Do you know how to lock the doggy door? I tried, but I can't make it work."

"Come on and I'll show you."

Not that it was tricky—you just had to slide three bolts closed, but the door had to be aligned just right so that all three would fit the sockets. "Hold it with your left hand," Dipper said, meaning the little knob at the bottom of the door, "and then you can wiggle it back and forth until the bolts line up with the locks."

Once that was squared away, Mabel and Tripper went off to her bedroom and Dipper returned to his bride. She threw back the covers and revealed that she was ready.

He got ready, too, and went to bed.

* * *


	3. Getting in the Swing

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**3: Getting in the Swing**

_Wednesday, September 6_

Mabel hadn't taken as many advanced-placement courses as her brother, and as she expected, she would be starting pretty much at the scratch line on her degree program. Olmsted's schedule was a little different from Western Alliance's. At Olmsted, each class met every weekday for periods of 45 minutes each. The standard load was still five courses, though.

At Orientation, Mabel discovered that she was a member of the SP-2021 cohort. That meant that she had minimal choice in what classes to take—the whole incoming freshman class would be taking the same courses, for the most part, but at different times. So—at eight in the morning, she had MATH 1101, College Algebra; then at nine, HIST 1100, World History I; at ten, THEA 1101, Introduction to Drama; at eleven, ENGL 1101, Composition; and at noon, POLS 1101, American Government.

As a general arts major with a minor in theater, she also had a three-day-a-week mandatory hour as a volunteer (that meant helping set up and clean the two theaters, learning basic tech, and helping in such things as costuming, set design, and so on). The full-fledged drama students that she met grimaced when they heard about her schedule. "You'll burn yourself out!" said Dally Lombard—"My real name's Dahlia, but nobody calls me that"—a vivacious, pretty African-American girl almost exactly Mabel's age. "Look, seriously, leave yourself more time between classes. Or set your volunteer hour later."

"Nah, I think this'll work for me," Mabel said confidently. One thing in her favor was that most other students didn't want to start so early in the morning. Eight and even nine o'clock classes filled up more slowly. By ten that morning, Mabel had set her schedule, had picked up the course syllabi, and then had tagged along with Dally, who was a theater major, to hear about the year's performance schedule. She didn't count—Dipper might have—but Mabel looked around and decided that somewhere between thirty and forty students were in the classroom. Anyway, some desks remained empty.

"The mainstage fall production," Mr. Dyer the chairman of the program, announced from up front, "will be _Avenue Q_ , a musical with puppets." He wrote the title on the whiteboard with a kind of swashbuckling printing style.

Someone asked, "High-school version?"

"Adult version," Dyer said, turning back toward them. "Tryouts will begin on Monday. I warn you, it's difficult for freshmen to be cast in major roles, but we are dividing roles that ordinarily are doubled—for example, Katie and Lucy are usually performed by one puppeteer, but we're splitting them. Six female roles, six male. If you're interested in this, show up in the main auditorium of Cable Hall at seven-thirty PM on Monday. You'll be asked to come in prepared with a one-minute monologue, and you can expect to show how well you can manipulate puppets—glove and hand-and-rod are the two types. All right?"

Someone else—and Mabel was glad, because she didn't know the answer either, and she didn't want to appear ignorant—someone else asked, "Are all the roles puppets?"

"No," Dyer said. "There are three ordinary human roles, too, two female, one male. The puppetry style is unconcealed—the puppeteers are on stage in full view of the audience. Anything else? No? OK, the black-box production is more traditional, _The Diary of Anne Frank._ Auditions there will be a week from tonight, at seven-thirty PM, again main auditorium, Cable. Come with a one-minute dramatic monologue, be familiar with the script. Five female roles, five male. Yes?"

Mabel, whose hand had shot up, asked, "Can we audition for both shows, or just one?"

"All auditions for program productions are open," Dyer said. "So, yes, you can audition for both—but you can't be cast in both. Let's see . . . all right, call-backs will be on Friday evening, and cast lists will be posted on the drama web page on Monday, September 18. Rehearsals will begin that night at 7:30." He raised a warning finger. "If anyone is cast and fails to maintain a 2.5 average by mid-term, he or she will be cut from the show, so don't bite off more than you can chew."

They had a break at noon—at one P.M, Mabel and thirty others had to report to the Student Center to get their ID cards and then their parking permits—so Mabel, Dally, Jewel—another freshman girl—and Lawrence, Guy, and Drew, three freshmen boys, went to the dining hall. Mabel was the only general-arts major in the bunch. The rest were theater majors.

Lunch was . . . food. "This is like our high-school cafeteria!' Mabel said. Long line, plastic compartmented tray, choice of three entrees (hamburger steak, chicken cutlet, crispy tofu). Then for one price, you also could get two or three vegetables (mashed potatoes, green beans, creamed cauliflower, candied carrots, small side salad), bread, and as a dessert, a choice of two flavors of ice cream, a fruit bowl, or brownies.

"I'm more used to fine dining," said Guy in a mock-snooty voice. "This does not please my palate."

"Yeah, I've heard it's not great," Drew said. "I may just brown-bag it."

"Or there's the coffee shop in the Student Union," Jewel said. "It's got sort of a menu—cold sandwiches, pastries, fruit. It'll get you through the day."

"My brother's a junior here," Dally said. "He's in vis-arts, though. He says he'll give me a rundown on nearby fast-food places. I'll pass that on. Hey, who's gonna try out for the shows?"

To Mabel's surprise, only she and Dally had decided to audition. "You know the juniors and seniors are gonna get the decent roles," Guy, who looked as if in time he might one day be a leading man, said. "I hear it's better if you get a good GPA the first term, then try out for one of the spring shows. They're doing _Oklahoma!_ on the main stage, and in the black box it's _Mother Courage and Her Children._ Bigger casts, better chance."

Drew pushed away his half-eaten lunch. "I hear that freshmen have a halfway good shot at being understudies, If either of you gets that, don't turn it down! Being an understudy is better than nothing."

"I'll take anything I can get," Mabel said. "Costumer or set dresser or whatever. But I most want to be on stage."

"Wish I had some experience with puppets," Dally said.

"Hey, I got that!" Mabel said. "I once put on my own puppet show—I wrote it, directed it, made the puppets, even."

"Really?" Lawrence asked. "What theater?"

"It was at the Gravity Falls center," Mabel said. "Little place in Oregon. It was kind of a vanity project, I guess. It had a short run. Oh, and I used to do a ventriloquist act with a puppet I named Bear-O."

"You did the voice and everything?" Jewel asked.

Impulsively, Mabel folded a paper napkin into a rough bag shape, then draped it over her hand and formed a pouch of a mouth. Then she said, "Who do we have here?"

With her teeth on her bottom lip, she improvised a thin voice: "Oh, hello, I'm Nappy. Ooh, I'd love to touch your beautiful lips!"

The other kids laughed. "Not bad!" Drew said. "Good voice, and your lips didn't move."

Nappy turned on him, and though it had no eyes, it seemed to stare him down. "Why should Mabel's lips move when I'm talking?" it asked.

"Now, now, be a good napkin," Mabel said.

"You definitely should try out for the puppet musical," Lawrence said.

Mabel crumpled Nappy. "Oh, I plan to!"

"Hey," Guy said, "what dorm are you in? How about dinner tonight? I know a place—"

Mabel held up her left hand. "I'm engaged," she said.

"Damn!" Guy said, but he laughed. "That's my problem. Always too late. Sorry."

"No offense taken," Mabel said. "Also, I'm not in a dorm. I live off-campus with relatives."

"In a house?" asked Jewel.

"Oh, yeah, baby. Nice place, very isolated."

"Cast party venue!" Lawrence said at once.

"Well . . " Mabel said, "Maybe we'll see."

* * *

That same morning, Dipper and Wendy drove in to Western Alliance in his car—since he already had California registration—and tried out the running track. It wasn't bad—in good repair, not too hot in the early morning and the standard size—but running it was boring. "Gotta explore around the house," Wendy said. "Must be a trail we could run. This is like hamster-wheel running!"

They put in a good forty-five minutes on the track, showered in the gym, and then dressed and met outside to walk to their first class in Rogers Hall, home of the Humanities. With Wendy's credits from the junior college and Dipper's advanced placement—he'd exempted the freshman English classes with credit—they went to room 3302 for Professor Budwin's class, English 3030, Great Themes of Literature. Dr. Budwin was a lady in her forties with iron-gray hair and round black glasses, but she had a humorous face.

"Good morning," she said after calling the roll. Of her thirty-two students, twenty-nine answered. "If I did not call your name, let me know. No one? Good. You must be in the right place. We can expect at least one straggler. It always happens. Now, this will be a short meeting because what I mainly have to do is to point you to the syllabus, tell you about your reading choices, and go over the grading scheme."

She listed six items on the board: growing up, good vs. evil, journey to redemption, love, the individual and society, and revenge. "These are subjects, not themes," she then said. "The theme is what a writer says or implies about the subject. For example, let's take 'love.' Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ makes love the center of a tragedy, while _Pride and Prejudice_ makes it a personal and social phenomenon. . . ."

Dr. Budwin's lecture was short and clear. When she finished after fifteen minutes, she said, "Now we know how to begin. Buy the textbook _Reading In,_ by Gossage and Tremon. Read Chapter 1 by Thursday morning. On the syllabus you'll find a reading list of novels. Each of you will choose five novels to read for the semester. For each novel you will turn in one essay of at least 1500 words, analyzing the major themes of the work and exploring their meaning. That's fifty per cent of your grade. The other comes from class participation and attendance—ten per cent—a mid-term—twenty per cent—and a final—twenty per cent—both exams taken from material covered in Gossage and Tremon."

"Gonna be interesting," Wendy said as they walked together toward the door.

Dr. Budwin called them over to her desk. "Wendy Corduroy and Mason Pines, aren't you?"

"Yes," Dipper said.

"I noticed you were holding hands."

Wendy grinned and showed her the engagement and wedding rings she wore. "I'm really Wendy Corduroy-Pines," she said. "We're married."

"I hope there's no objection," Dipper said.

Dr. Budwin smiled. "No, certainly not. However, even though you are married, no talking in class is the rule."

"We understand," Wendy said.

"We weren't talking," Dipper added.

"I wasn't accusing you. Welcome to class, and I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to promise to do your own work and to choose different books from the reading list. I have to judge individual achievement."

"Is it all right if we study together?" Wendy asked.

"I encourage that."

"Thanks!"

Because of the short first meeting, they didn't have to rush, but Wendy had to go off to the Social Sciences building for her Poly Sci class—Government Systems—while Dipper reported to the STEM building for Calculus for Science and Engineering. Then they planned to meet for lunch at noon, and the last class of the day would be another shared class back in the STEM building, ESCI 3111, Earth Dynamics and Landforms. That was required for Wendy but would be Dipper's basic science elective.

They topped off the day by visiting the bookstore and purchasing, for outrageous prices, textbooks—except Dipper rented his Earth Science and freshman biology books. By the time they got into Dipper's Land Runner and edged out of the freshman lot and into the highway, they were both a little tired.

"Gotta find some way to work in a better breakfast," Wendy said. "Protein bars and coffee from the Student Center won't cut it. We need something more substantial if we're gonna run."

"We'll look up some recipes," Dipper said. "Are we going to be able to hack being married college students?"

"Sure, we are!" Wendy said. "We've defeated ghosts and goblins and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night! What's a college instructor or two?"

They stopped at a traffic light and fist-bumped. "I wonder," he mused, "if Mom and Dad would be upset if I called myself Dipper Corduroy-Pines?"

"My dad might," Wendy said. "Unless you agreed to do apocalypse training every winter for like five years. I think that's his idea of the family entrance exam."

"Do you want to hyphenate?" he asked her.

"Gives me a long name. Why don't I just use Corduroy as my middle name? Wendy Corduroy Pines? Then I can use it or not, depending on how much space the applications and junk give me."

"Works for me," Dipper said. They spotted a food market and spent a little time shopping for some essentials.

A little while later, they got to the house. Dipper opened the garage door. "Looks like Mabel gets the garage today," he said, closing it again. "I don't mind parking on the apron, though."

He did, they got out of the car, and Mabel and Tripper opened the door as the young couple lugged in a heavy load of college books and two bags of groceries. Mabel at least helped with the latter, while babbling about her day and the people she had met and how exciting it all was.

So far, so good. Pretty good first day of college.

Now, the next day, though—

Well, we'll get to that.

* * *

To be continued


	4. Surprises

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**4: Surprises**

_September 6-10, 2017_

From Wednesday on, college rocked along very well. Mabel liked all of her instructors, she got to know several other students at Olmsted, one even from San Francisco, and in the evenings, she prepared for the auditions coming up. That caused a bit of inconvenience because she moved her sewing machine to the dining-room table and piled bolts of material, skeins of yarn, buttons, Ping-Pong balls, fabric glue—everything needed, as she said, "to bring life to this inanimate fabric! Life, I tell you! Mwa-ha-ha!"

When Wendy asked where they were supposed to eat, Mabel said, "We've got a perfectly good coffee table, and there's the little patio table out on the deck. You have to suffer to have great art!"

When Dipper saw the unfinished puppet, he said, "Hold on, now! That's not funny!"

"It isn't supposed to be funny, Brobro! It's supposed to be inspirational! Hold this for a second."

With his hands held a foot apart, palms vertical, he patiently waited as Mabel wound on nearly a full skein of red wool yarn. Mabel tied the strands together with another length of the same yarn, then cut them all and held up a kind of red curtain. "so far, so good! Now hold your hands about six inches farther apart."

That was on Wednesday. By Thursday evening, the puppet had started to take shape—an oval head with a wide mouth, an upturned nub of a nose, no eyes yet (but where they would be, curled dark eyelashes made of thin slivers of black vinyl). The yarn, stitched to the head, began to become hair. "This is my audition puppet," Mabel explained. "Here, I want to show you something. Hold up a finger."

Dipper did. Using a rod, Mabel made the puppet's right hand, cupped, reach out and gently close its fingers around Dipper's index finger. "Whoa!" Dipper said. "How'd you make it take hold of me?"

"Modified reacher," Mabel said. "You know, those gadgets that let old people pick stuff up from the floor or whatever. I'm hoping this will impress the directors, or at least the director of the puppet musical. If I can't get a part, maybe I can work backstage and make puppets."

She sewed away, starting as soon as she got home, telling Wendy that everything had to be double stitched for durability. Then just after seven—for dinner, they'd cooked burgers on the grill and had eaten them out on the deck—she said, "Guys, could one of you do me a great big favor?"

"What?" Dipper asked cautiously.

"Got a little shopping list."

Well, the list included no foods. Instead, Dipper had to go online and locate the hardware stores in the area. The nearest was close to the Sprawl-Mart, a Top Card Hardware place. "These are kind of strange," Dipper said.

"But I need them!"

"OK, OK."

Wendy, a little antsy about English class, wanted to spend a couple of hours reading _Anna Karenina_. So Dipper drove down and came back with the full list:

1-small tack hammer

2-smallest bow saw they have, extra blades, fine teeth

3-small piece of sheet aluminum (just need a little bit, not a sheet)

4-box of small screws, no longer than ½ in.

5-3 cans spray fabric paint: light pink, dark green, light brown/tan. May have to get this at the Stitch Witch sewing shop on Hamilton. You'll need to go there anyway for these:

6-Look at remnants for faux fur, get 2 shades, one dark, one light. Brown and tan preferred. No black or white! If no tan, light gray OK

7-Flower-stem wire. Comes in packs. Get one pack of 14-inch wires

8-Pack of acrylic paints, try for 12 to 18 colors

9-Cheap paint brushes, assorted sizes from 2 inches wide on down. Buy about six. Might be able to get a set

The trip cost him about an hour and about seventy dollars, though she promise to pay him back some day. Mabel took a few minutes to look through the booty. "You did good, Brobro," she said. "What's this?"

"Pack of heavy-gauge aluminum foil," he said. "You can cut it with shears, but it's stiff enough to hold its shape. That what you need?"

"Yeah, good size, too. Got it at Stitch Witch, huh?"

"In the craft section, yes." Looking at the shell of the puppet, not yet dressed, but beginning to gain hair, Dipper said, "That better not be—"

"It isn't," Mabel said, reaching for another tier of yarn hair. "I have to sing a song, and I got one picked out. That reminds me, could you write out the sheet music for the tune? I can tell you where you can find a video of it on the Net."

"I'm not real good at writing music notation," Dipper said.

"It's just a simple tune, and I need sheet music. Melody and basic chords, that's all. Just enough for piano accompaniment."

"Oh, a fake sheet?"

"What's that?"

"Just a stripped-down sheet of melody and chords. I can probably do one of those. What key?"

"Middle C, thanks! I'll owe you one, Brobro!"

" _One?"_ he asked. But he did it. He actually remembered hearing the song on a TV show. He listened to it all the way through twice. He was sitting on the sofa, and he looked over his shoulder and asked, "You want the lyrics on the sheet?"

"No! I'm writing new parody lyrics for it."

When Dipper had jotted down a quick version of the melody, he asked, "Hum your way through it so I can get the note values you'll need."

She went through it over and over, happily humming as she sewed, and after about forty minutes, Dipper had two sheets filled with the tune. It only had to be a minute long, Mabel said, so that would serve. "Here you go. I'm going to do my math homework now. Don't ask me for anything else tonight."

"Go be a math nerd! I'll probably stay up a little late. Hope the sewing machine won't bother you guys—I gotta sew the costume."

"Don't you have homework?"

"I plan to catch up over the weekend. This is important, and I want to finish it tomorrow evening so I can practice before auditions. Oh, Monday night I'll get some dinner off campus, at the Bigga Burgga or Pizza Catto. If you guys have any leftovers, shove 'em in the fridge in case I'm still hungry when I get home."

"OK."

Mabel turned her head around. "Thanks, Broseph!"

"Ugh!" Mabel had cut a Ping-Pong ball in half and had painted pupils and irises on them to make eyes for the puppet. But she had put the two eyes over her own, squeezing her eye sockets to hold them in place, like monocles. "Creepy, Sis!"

She let them fall out and put them on the table next to the still-eyeless head. "Just wait until I get them on the puppet. She'll be beautiful, you'll see!"

Dipper went into the bedroom. Wendy was sitting propped up in bed with the novel open. "Everything under control?"

"I guess." He tossed his calculus book and a pad and pencil onto the bed, then kicked off his shoes and joined her. "How's the book?"

"It'd be better if the Russian authors could settle on one name for each character, but not bad. What are you reading, by the way?"

" _Their Eyes Were Watching God._ Finished the first chapter, which kind of sets up a long flashback. Got a Calc quiz tomorrow, so I'm going over these practice equations."

"Want me to go into the office?" The office had once been a nursery, but now they'd set it up with a desk for their laptops, a couple of bookcases, and no distractions.

"No, I like to study beside you."

"Cool."

And she read and he did practice equations for over an hour, only faintly hearing the hum of Mabel's sewing machine from time to time.

* * *

The next morning they again ran for forty-five minutes on the track at school, showered and dressed in the gym. They carried their brown bag over to the picnic tables outside the Student Center, Dipper got them cups of meh-tasting coffee, and then they settled down to breakfast. They'd looked up recipes for breakfast-on-the-go, and that morning they had ham, cheese, and veggie frittatas they had cooked in a muffin tin. Wendy had taken the bag into the Center and had zapped it in the microwave for a few seconds, so the mostly-egg-and-cheese muffins things were nice and warm.

"What do you think?" he asked as they ate their breakfast.

"Pretty good. Mabel liked them this morning. She ate three before leaving for school."

"I like them," Dipper said. "Wonder how they'd be with a little salsa cooked in?" He finished his frittata and took a couple of tangerines from his pocket. He put one in front of Wendy and peeled the other. "These are nice and sweet," he said after munching one of the segments.

"Yeck," Wendy said, making a face as she finished her coffee. "Tell you what, let's get ourselves a two-cup Thermos and haul in our own coffee next week. This tastes like they brewed it with used dishwater."

"OK. We'll hit the Sprawl-Mart this weekend." He gathered up their trash and tossed it in the garbage bin. "Ready for English?"

" _Anna Karenina_ examines the role of societal expectations and individual emotions in a stagnant society," she said. "How's that?"

"Like you're memorizing the back-cover blurb," Dipper said. "Hey, my novel has a character named Tea Cake. What kind of person do you think that is?"

With their backpacks on their shoulders, they joined the throng of morning students trudging to classes. Wendy thought for a moment. "Mm, battered woman?" she asked.

"What? No, it's—what are you laughing at?" Then Dipper grinned. "Oh. Cake. Battered. Yeah, yeah. No, Tea Cake is a guy, really attractive to the ladies."

"Really? Book interesting?"

"Yeah, but difficult. It's written in heavy Southern dialect, and that's hard to understand."

They got to the building and classroom and settled in. That morning's lecture and discussion were all about societal expectations and women's individuality and how the two can lead to conflict. They took notes. They jotted down the next reading assignments. Typical stuff.

Dipper made a mental note to talk to Wendy about Hugh, a tall guy who sat over close to the window and who spent about half the class time gazing out at the campus—and the other half, Dipper thought, stealing glances at Wendy. They hadn't really met many of their fellow students in that class yet, and evidently Hugh had not registered the rings on Wendy's left hand. Dipper suspected that he'd make a move sooner or later and it probably would be better if Wendy were prepared.

But he let that slide on Friday, because they had to hustle to their next classes. They went their separate ways, Wendy to the Social Sciences building and Dipper to the STEM building. The teacher took thirty minutes to lecture, then gave the class twenty minutes to solve ten equations. "Show your work," he cautioned. "When you finish, stop at my desk and turn in your quiz and that's it for today. Remember, for Monday, pages 20-33. Do the exercises and that's your homework. Turn over the quiz papers and begin."

Dipper was surprised. The equations were on the easy side. In fact, he solved all ten of them in about seven minutes. He took time to double-check. He got up and was the first to turn his quiz in.

"Not too hard, Mr. Pines?" asked Dr. Villiers.

"I think I was ready," Dipper said.

Villiers clicked a red pen and went down the list. Check, check, check, check . . . he scrawled 100 at the top. "Very good. I may assign you some more challenging work later. You may go."

"Thank you, sir," Dipper said.

He walked out early, feeling happy. Back to the Student Center, when he and Wendy planned to meet for lunch.

He hitched the backpack into a more comfortable position, then stood out in front of the Student Center building. Wendy would come toward him from the opposite direction, and it was close to class-change time, so Dipper just stood, humming to himself—the melody that Mabel had him write out—and waited.

Then he heard, from behind him, "Dipper!"

The voice wasn't Wendy's or Mabel's, but it was familiar—he turned around—

 _Oof!_ The girl charged straight into him, hugged him, and kissed him—

He pulled back, startled, and recognized her—

"Eloise!" he said.

Behind him, Wendy said, "Dipper!"

* * *


	5. Coincidence

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**5: Coincidence**

_September 6-10, 2017_

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: _Grunkle Ford once told me about a time when he was lost in the Multiverse. He had just popped through a portal from a weird dimension where people moved and spoke backwards and found himself on a hot, dry, world in what he later discovered was Dimension 105/F. The first thing he saw was a Christmas tree!_

" _A Christmas tree," he told me. "One of those dense firs, decked out with gold, silver, red, blue, and other ornaments, and with a five-pointed star at the very top. A sun that looked much like ours was very low in the sky, and it seemed to be either early morning or late afternoon. It was about fifty yards from me, and I staggered toward it, thinking that by some wild coincidence, I had stumbled through a portal and had wound up home!"_

_He admitted that he was both laughing and weeping. Where there are Christmas trees, there must be people, he thought, so he hurried toward the one he saw._

" _I told myself to remain calm, not to give in to unreasonable hope. Yet my head was filled with thoughts of what I could do when I arrived home—of the steps I must take to make sure no one would ever fall through the Portal again—thoughts of rejoining my family, my friends, my home—" Grunkle Ford actually had to pause to control his emotions. Then he shook his head._

_As he came near the Christmas tree, the star on top swiveled toward him. And then the whole thing shambled rapidly away._

" _It was a sentient being, not a tree," Ford said. "A kind of echinoderm-like creature. Up close I could see its rugose green skin and I realized that the ornaments were really extrusions of its epidermis. Later I discovered that they were part of its reproductive cycle—they form, drop off, and then develop into miniature replicas of the parent. The star was its head, though in its case the brain was contained within the body, the head serving only as a base for sensory organs. At any rate, its kind were not sympathetic—not hostile, but rather just indifferent—to me, and I left that dimension as soon as I could. But for a while there, Mason—I thought I had gone completely insane._

_And that's just the way I felt when Eloise Niedermeyer hugged me, kissed me right on the lips, and my wife behind me said, "Dipper!" and didn't sound pleased._

* * *

Later, Wendy insisted that the flustered Dipper had blurted, "Eloise, this is my Wendy, wife!"

He thought it was the other way around, though. He remembered Eloise saying, "Wife?"

"Yeah," Wendy said, displaying her left hand. "We're married. So you're Eloise? Niedermeyer, right?"

Eloise finally let go of Dipper. She hadn't changed a lot since the summer when she and Dipper had investigated a haunted high school out in Minnesota. She still had that pretty browny-blond hair and striking blue-gray eyes beneath dark straight brows. She was in college student attire—white sneakers, black leggings, a horizontally-striped dark blue tee shirt, a lighter blue half-sleeve sweater that hung down to her hips, plus the requisite backpack.

Dipper held up his own left hand to show off his gold wedding band, then dropped it, feeling foolish. "Yeah, she and I—"

"Niedermeyer, right," Eloise said, overriding him. "Wendy! I've heard a lot about you. Hey, congratulations, you guys!"

"—investigated ghosts at—"

Wendy smiled. "Good to meet you! Yeah, Dip, I know, the Westminster House in San Jose and a Minnesota high school. That last one, Dr. P. sent me to the rescue with one of McGucket's inventions. I showed up as kine of a ghost-like figure with an axle."

"Oh," said Eloise, "I remember. You look a lot prettier in real life!"

"—um," Dipper said. "So, Eloise—ha—how are you?"

Eloise seemed to recover from surprise a lot faster than Dipper. "Great! I think I'm gonna like it here. Hey, are you two on the way to lunch?"

"We were going to eat here," Dipper said.

"Blech. Tell you what, let's go to the coffee shop. It's not much, but it's better than the dining hall."

"That's what we were gonna do," Wendy said. "Let's go!"

The coffee shop was crowded at that hour, but Eloise saw and scored a table for three over in the corner. "Hey, could you get my food while I hold the table?" she asked.

"Sure," Wendy said. "What do you want?"

"Vanilla latte, regular, one of those chickpea sandwiches on Dutch Oven bread, and veggie chips." She dug in her backpack and handed Dipper a ten and a five.

"Latte, chickpea sandwich, and veggie chips," he said. "Wendy, what do you want?"

"I'll come with you," Wendy said. "I want to see what they have."

To Dipper's surprise, as they stood in line at the counter, she didn't ask a single question. When he volunteered, "Honest, I didn't know she was going to college here—" Wendy said, "Later dude. Don't act so flustered. I believe you!"

They came back to the table with Eloise's food and latte, then the three settled down to their quick lunch. Dipper had a café au lait, a chipotle chicken and cheddar sandwich, and an apple, and Wendy had chosen plain coffee, a tuna melt, and a small container of crudités, mainly celery, carrots, and cherry tomatoes.

"I didn't know you were coming to college here," Dipper told Eloise.

She smiled and shrugged. "I started looking into the school when you mentioned it. I really, really, really wanted to get away from Minnesota! At least for a while. It seems like a good place. I've been looking around for you—didn't see you during Orientation."

"We were here," Wendy said.

They chatted and discovered that they had been in different divisions—Orientation split the students up into three different cadres, and while Eloise was getting her student ID and parking permit, Dipper and Wendy had been listening to the department chairs discussing programs of study. Then they rotated. "I've been meaning to text you," Eloise said. "I've just been so busy—getting used to being in California, moving in, all that junk."

"Where are you staying?" Wendy asked.

"Colby dorm," Eloise said, opening her veggie chips. "I guess you're in Married Housing?"

"No, we've got a house off-campus," Wendy said.

"Yeah, my great uncles own one a few miles from campus, so we're renting it. Together with my sister, Mabel."

"Oh, I want to meet Mabel!" Eloise said with a wide smile. She told Wendy, "I've heard lots of Mabel stories from Dipper. Is she as fun to know as I think she must be?"

"She's pretty fun," Wendy said. "You've got to get to understand her, but yeah. She's really good-hearted, and I've never met anybody with as much energy as Mabel!"

"So she's in school here, too?"

Dipper explained that no, Mabel was a student at Olmsted and was aiming for a career in art. The usual "what's your major" exchange took place. Eloise was an unspecified major—"They tell me most people change their majors anyway, so I want to shop around and find out what I like." She wasn't surprised that Dipper was a science major, and she looked impressed to learn that Wendy was a forestry major. "Don't have any forestry classes yet, though," Wendy said. "I gotta take the basic courses first, because the forestry courses have them as prerequisites. I'll take my first major course in the spring—Foundations of Forestry Studies."

One thing about lunch at school—it left very little time for dawdling and chatting. They had to go to classes before long, and they parted, with Eloise saying, "We have to get together soon!"

Wendy said, "Yeah, we'll have you come over for dinner maybe one day next week."

"I'll text you," Dipper said.

* * *

Only after their last class, when they were on their way to the DMV office—Wendy had made an appointment—did Dipper finally start to feel real relief. As they got out of his car in the DMV customer lot, he tried again: "I haven't texted Eloise since last spring. I didn't know she was applying here."

"Come on, man," Wendy said. "Take my hand. Open up."

How lucky they were to have their extraordinary touch telepathy. Dipper instantly saw that Wendy was amused but not jealous; she immediately realized he was only startled and embarrassed, not guilty.

With that reassurance, they went in and spent a couple of hours getting Wendy's California license and making her Dodge Dart street-legal to drive. By the time they started home, it was five P.M. Wendy, celebrating her new status as a California driver, was behind the steering wheel. Dipper called Mabel, who was home. Not to his surprise, she was sewing and hadn't even thought to prepare for or start dinner. "Pick up something," she said. "Chinese would be fine."

They found a small Chinese place, Wong Wei, and picked up takeout: sesame chicken, beef and veggies, fried rice, and spring rolls. "Smells good!" Wendy said as they drove out, made the turn north, and got on the narrow highway that led to their house.

Mabel and Tripper met them just inside the door from the garage and mud room. "Yay, food!" Mabel said. "So what do you think?"

Wendy burst out laughing. "Oh, my God! Is that me?"

Mabel held her finished puppet—a red-headed girl with freckled cheeks, wearing a small fur ushanka and green plaid shirt, holding a small hatchet in her left hand and waving her right. "No, I'm me!" the puppet girl said. "Hi! My name is Willow! I'm a Lumberjill from California!"

"Oh, the character from my books!" Dipper said.

"Pretty good ventriloquism, Mabes," Wendy said as they walked into the kitchen. Mabel had stowed away the sewing machine and supplies, so they put the food on the table. "Hang on for just about five minutes, and I'll brew us some tea," Wendy said.

"Took care of that!" Mabel said. "Ooh, sesame! My favorite. Are these pork spring rolls?"

"I know better than that," Dipper said. "Veggie."

Mabel set the table and poured hot tea from a white ceramic teapot. "Ah, you remembered chopsticks!" she said. "You ever learn to use them?"

"I can use chopsticks," Dipper assured her.

Tripper knew that people food from the table was a no-no, but to keep his skills sharp, he practiced begging anyway. The food—well, it wasn't the best Chinese food that they had ever tasted, but on the other hand, it was far from the worst.

Over the meal, Dipper—since he knew it had to come out, anyway—told Mabel about his surprising encounter with Eloise.

"Yeah," Wendy teased. "I came over to meet Dip for lunch, and I caught them in a passionate kiss!"

"What!" Mabel threw a fortune cookie at her brother. It bounced off his chest and fell but didn't make the floor because Tripper fielded it.

"Don't let him eat the fortune!" Wendy said.

Dipper got out of his chair, but Tripper had already crunched up the cookie. He let the slip of paper fall off his tongue. "He didn't swallow it," Dipper said, picking up the damp fortune.

"Bad Dipper!" Mabel scolded. "Bad, bad!"

"Hey, it wasn't even my idea!" he objected. "Eloise saw me before I saw her, ran right up, grabbed me, and kissed me!"

"Yeah, and to be fair, she didn't know that Dip's been taken," Wendy said.

"I don't like girls that are so forward," Mabel said.

"Yes," the puppet agreed. "An impulsive girl like Eloise could be trouble!"

"She's new here," Dipper objected. "Eloise isn't like you—she doesn't make friends instantly. Give her a little time. She was just glad to see someone she knows, that's all."

"We're thinking about inviting her over for dinner," Wendy said. "Not this weekend, but maybe next Friday or Saturday. She wants to meet you."

"Well, who wouldn't?" Mabel asked. "Where's she from again?"

"Winnemunka, Minnesota," Dipper said.

"There's no such place!"

"Yes, there is. I've been there."

"So . . . that's halfway across the country," Mabel said. "And she doesn't know anybody in California except you. The solution is obvious."

"Mabel," Wendy warned.

"We just gotta find her a good guy and get 'em hooked up, and voila! Dipper's off the Eloise hook!"

Dipper groaned.

Mabel put a fist in the air. "This is a case for the world's greatest matchmaker!"

On the table lay the fortune that Tripper had almost but not quite eaten.

_Old friends will give you a surprise._

* * *


	6. Saturday, Happy Saturday

**Zero Regrets**

**(September-December 2017)**

* * *

**SEPTEMBER**

**6: Saturday, Happy Saturday**

**_(September 9, 2017)_ **

How nice to wake up in bed with the one you love lying warm and relaxed next to you. How pleasant to realize that nothing waited on the calendar—a rest day from the running routine, homework mostly caught up, no licenses or ID cards or parking permits to apply for. Ah, the luxury of ignoring the clock, snuggling close, drifting along halfway between waking and dozing. That was how Saturday began.

Ordinarily, Dipper and Wendy got up early, anywhere from 5:30 to 6:00 AM, depending on the day. That Saturday they slept in. The first glance Dipper took at the clock radio showed him it was already past seven. A drowsy, lazy time later it showed 8:04. And something—he sniffed—something smelled nice.

Wendy wasn't cooking. She lay on her side, her left hand under her cheek, her red hair spilled across the sheets and pillow, a languid smile on her lips, her eyes closed. She seemed aware that he was looking at her, and her green eyes opened, and her smile widened. "Good morning, Mr. Pines," she murmured.

"Good morning, Mrs. Corduroy-Pines," he said, and that called for a smooch.

Then Mabel tapped on the door—not her usual fist-pounding, but a light fingertip tap—and Dipper raised his voice: "It's unlocked!"

Mabel opened the door. "Well, look at you two! So cute! Are you ready for breakfast? It's ready for you!"

Wendy sat up in bed, pushing her hair out of her face. "You made breakfast, Mabes?"

"Yeah. Hope you like it. Lemon blueberry scones, turkey sausage links, hash-browns, and as soon as you're up, I'll scramble some eggs. Coffee's ready. And afterward, I'll clean up."

"Wow," Dipper said. "What do you want from us?"

"It's not tit-for-tat, Brobro! You guys were nice when I hogged the table for my puppet-making, so I just thought I'd do something nice for you. Ready to get up?"

"Yes. Go crack the eggs, and we'll get dressed."

"Deal! Come on, Tripper, maybe I'll give you a sausage link!"

Dipper and Wendy rolled out of bed and put on some slopping-around-the-house clothes, gray yoga pants and one of her flannel shirts for Wendy, jeans and an orange tee shirt for Dipper. They got their shoes on and arrived in the kitchen as Mabel melted some butter in their largest skillet. "Cheese in the eggs, yes or no?"

"What kind of cheese?" Wendy asked.

"We got Swiss, Havarti, and cheddar. Your choice."

"Cheddar," Wendy and Dipper said in unison.

Mabel took the grater from the drawer. "You got it." She shaved about a quarter cup of cheddar from the block into the egg bowl. Salt, a little pepper, and then she started to stir. "Dip, pour the coffee. This will only take a few minutes."

"Best breakfast I've had in a month," Wendy said a little later. "These scones are delicious. Made them from a mix?"

"No, from scratch. We had some lemons, and you guys picked up blueberries. Oh, I used about half of them, by the way. I got the recipe from the Net."

"Very tasty," Dipper said.

Wendy added, "Good job, Mabes!"

"Thanks! So what do you guys have to do today?"

"Nothing!" Dipper said.

"I have to finish reading _Anna Karenina,"_ Wendy said. "Next time I'm gonna choose a shorter book. I still have like 160 pages to go."

"How long is it?" Mabel asked, pouring them all second cups of coffee.

"Six hundred and sixty-eight," Wendy said. "Long. Interesting, but long. I thought I might sit out on the deck, put my feet up, and finish it in a couple of hours."

"You reading it too, Broseph?" Mabel asked.

"No, we had a choice, and I took _Their Eyes Were Watching God._ Zora Neale Hurston. It's a lot shorter, about 250 pages, and I finished it yesterday."

"Why don't you read the same book? You guys could use your mental voodoo and each of you read alternate pages!"

"Wouldn't be fair," Wendy said. "We could chose any of a dozen books from a list for this segment of the course—it's women's issues and social background in world literature—and we just picked ones that interested us. I'd never read a Russian novel and Dipper knew the writer's name for his—"

"She wrote a book I read on voodoo in Haiti and Jamaica," Dipper said. " _Tell My Horse._ It was pretty interesting, so I picked her novel."

"Is it like society and women and zombies?" Mabel asked.

"No, naturalistic novel," Dipper said. "It's set in sort of early-twentieth-century Florida, and it's about an independent woman named Janie Crawford and her life. Her dad isn't in her life, and her mom deserts her. She grows up and has two really bad marriages and then a better one. She faces tragedy and catastrophes and just grows stronger."

"I want to read it after you finish," Mabel said.

"Have to write an essay on it next week, but after that, you're welcome to it." He finished his coffee, pushed back his chair, and got up. "I'll help you with the dishes, Sis."

"You don't have to."

"No, I'm glad to do it."

"Thanks. I have to finish a mess of homework, but I'll do that in like two-hour chunks, with rest periods in between. Then tonight, I'm gonna practice my monologues and song. Would you mind throwing Tripper's ball for him?"

Tripper's ears perked. He ran to Mabel's bedroom and came back with his nubbly red rubber ball and danced around Tripper's chair. "Sure, it'll be fun," he said.

Mabel said firmly, "Tripper, sit. Wait. Dipper will play with you later."

It took them about fifteen minutes to tidy up and to load the dishwasher. Wendy had retrieved her big paperback from their bedroom, and she took a kitchen chair out onto the deck. When Dipper and Tripper went out, he saw that she had tilted the chair back and was resting her bare feet on the rail.

Dipper paused to lean over and kiss her. Tripper clattered down the steps and tossed the ball himself once, running to retrieve it. Dipper paused at the top of the steps, looking back at Wendy, just smiling.

"What?" she asked with a little chuckle.

"Right now, you look exactly the same as you did when I first saw you in the Mystery Shack," he said. "Leaning back in your seat, feet up, reading."

"Except now it's Leo Tolstoy 'stead of _Indie Fuzz,"_ she said. "Let me find out what happens to Anna. You go have fun with the dog!"

Tripper loved chasing things—sticks, balls, incautious squirrels—and he had a wide repertoire of styles. There was the "Catch the Wabbit," where Dipper threw sidearm and sent the red ball skipping and leaping across the lawn, Tripper bounding after it, judging its probable course. There was "Incoming," where Dipper tossed the ball as high as he could. Tripper would take one glance, then speed away, turn, and leap to make a catch with all four of his feet off the ground. There was "Rebound," where Dipper would hurl the ball against the fence and Tripper would have to instantly reverse his course to intercept.

Tripper finally decided that time was up. He trotted over to the barbecue grill, resting on a concrete pad, and carefully put the ball down. Dipper walked over and sat beside him. The happy dog panted and arched his neck as Dipper scratched his ears and chin and patted him. After a couple of minutes, he rolled onto his back and Dipper gave him the obligatory belly rub. Nice morning. The nut trees down at the back of the yard looked cool and shady, and the air smelled fresh.

Finally, Dipper took the ball inside, leaving Tripper to sun himself. On the deck, he asked Wendy, "Bring you anything?"

"Mm, thanks. Cup of tea would be great."

Dipper brewed it and while it steeped, he brought out a second chair. Then he brought both cups. Wendy sipped it and murmured, "Peppermint!"

"Because why not?" Dipper asked, sitting beside her. "I'll just drink the tea and then leave you to your book."

"Thanks. Couple of hours and I'll be finished."

"Mabel's spread out on the dining-room table," he said.

"What?"

"Her homework. Same way she always did it in high school—all the books and notes for every course on the table, her tablet for looking up stuff on the internet, earphones and her old MP3 player, box of chocolate-covered cookies. She'll do like fifteen minutes of math, get tired of it, then switch to English for half an hour, then back to math, then maybe history or something. Way scattered."

"That would mess up my head."

"Mine, too, but it's Mabel's style. I'm gonna go out and trim those bushes on the front lawn. I'll leave you to your reading."

"Look at you, responsible family man, bush trimmer and all!"

"Somebody's gotta do it. Here, I'll take your cup."

She briefly squeezed his hand. _Thanks, Dipper. I love me some peppermint in the morning!_

— _You're welcome. You—you're really not upset about Eloise?_

_Really not. Don't beat yourself up, man._

— _I'll try not to. Get back to Russia._

_OK, but I got a feeling this book's gonna have a downer ending._

Dipper got the clippers from the tool bench in the back of the garage—the car bays were quite deep, because the farmer who'd had the house built wanted to be able to work on his own cars and do some carpentry work in there—and went out front. He hadn't spent a lot of time on the front lawn, where a row of waist-high privet hedges ran along parallel to the road. They looked as if they had once been trimmed level, but now had grown shaggy. Dipper clipped his way along them, shaped them up—more or less, he'd have to get practice before being a decent gardener—and then got a rake from the garage and gathered up the trimmings.

And so the morning passed most pleasantly. For lunch they grilled frankfurters in the back yard. By then Wendy had finished her book. "Sad ending," she confirmed. "Anna catches a train in the end. But she did have a daughter, and there are some good people, so there's kind of hope at the end."

Mabel worked away at her studies all day, and at last, late in the afternoon, she cleared off the table. "Dip, I might ask you for a little coaching with my math. Think you could sit down with me tomorrow for a while and check my homework with me?"

"Sure. Do it now if you want."

"No, I'm tired of algebra. Tomorrow's fine. Why don't we go into town for dinner? See what kind of night life is jumping for the students?"

"Wendy?" Dipper asked.

"Fine with me," she said. "Hey, we can take the Green Machine. Got the plates and license and all. Dip, cruise the Web and see what college kids recommend."

"Sounds like a plan!"

* * *

And meanwhile, up in Oregon, and not far from Gravity Falls . . . .

Dr. Stanford Pines met his visitor at the main entrance to the central classroom building of the Institute for the Study of Anomalous Sciences. "Welcome," he said. "Forgive me for asking you to come here. I could have choppered down to Sacramento, but—"

The thin, attractive woman smiled. "But your school just started. This is an impressive small college, P."

"Thank you. It's still quite rough around the edges, but we have a cadre of students who are misfits everywhere else. We let them study fields at which mainstream experts and educators scoff."

"Our kind of subject," the woman said.

"This is my office. You take the armchair. I'll sit in this one." He didn't take the office chair behind the desk but the simple one near the armchair. He angled it so they could comfortably converse. "Agent Hazard," he said. "I finished your annual review."

"Ah," she said.

Ford reached to his desk and picked up a manila folder. "I'm sure you are anxious about the evaluation," he said with a smile that meant they both knew she had nothing to worry about. He handed the folder to her. "Review it, please."

Tilting her head, Agent Hazard read through the three single-spaced pages. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh, there's no flattery in the evaluation," Ford said. "You are in the top tier of western operatives. Are you interested in a promotion?"

She raised an eyebrow. "For what position?"

"Regional director," he said.

"Of what region?"

"A new one," Ford said. He leaned back and tented his fingers. "Trigger is a competent agent, but as an administrator, he's somewhat over-extended. Since we have weirdness hotspots in Oregon, Idaho, Washington State, and southern Alaska, I'm going to establish a Pacific Northwest division. We have a facility in place here in Oregon."

"Isolation and interrogation, yes, I know," she said.

"It's been reduced to minimal operations and a skeleton staff for five years. We had a serious outbreak of dimensional interference in 2012, but since then just a moderate level of activity with a few blips. Still, we periodically have to divert resources and staff from California to this area. If we establish a class-three administrative facility here, that will allow us to take care of most situations without requisitioning personnel and materiel. That will relieve the pressure on W1 and Trigger. I know he'll be more effective, and I trust you will be as effective an administrator as you have been as a field agent."

"Would I still be able to lead investigations?"

Ford chuckled. "I would never take you away from that. You must continue to do what you're best at doing."

"Timeline?" she asked.

"What's your case docket presently?"

"Routine UFO investigation, Colorado. It's nothing, re-entry of a satellite, just have to file the final report. The usual vague Chupacabra reports from Arizona, but I'm not key on that. I'd like to complete the debriefings in the Reno haunting, but that can be done in a week."

"All right. Say I give you two weeks to settle up everything and clear your desk. Then take a few days off. Relocate to Oregon during the first week in October—we have housing available for you, unless you want to find your own, in which case you'll need to apply for the housing supplement—"

"GIB housing's fine for now," she said.

"Very well. Let's say you'll begin your duties in the central Oregon facility commencing Monday, October 15. I'm planning an initial staff of eleven to work under you: your assistant, a three-person communications crew, a secretary, and six Agents. Early next year we may expand, depending on case load."

"Is anything cooking?" she asked.

"Some activity in Two Peaks. We still haven't discovered the entity or entities behind that. A ghost ship—three-masted, square-rigged—persistently reported off the coast of Alaska. The usual low-level Roadkill County cryptid and paranormal activity."

She smiled enigmatically, obviously waiting him out.

"What do you suspect?" he asked, returning her smile.

"That you don't want Trigger prying into Gravity Falls business."

"That," said Ford, "is accurate. I respect Trigger's ambition and his focus, but—Gravity Falls is a special case. Don't let him know that, though. Agent Hazard, speaking very frankly, I suspect something important is brewing in Gravity Falls. I want a force close by. And I want to keep a lid on publicity. As a regional director, you'll report directly to me. I want to trust you."

"You can, P," she said.

"That's vital to me."

She nodded. "I understand."

Ford stood. "Well, then, congratulations, District Director Hazard." He looked at his watch. "I hope you'll spend the night as our guest. My wife is preparing a roast for dinner. Will you join us?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, getting to her feet. "It's been a long time since I've had a home-cooked meal. And I've always wanted to spend a night in Gravity Falls."

* * *


	7. Butterflies

**Zero Regrets**

**(** **_September 10-11, 2017_ )**

* * *

**7: Butterflies**

On Sunday, Dipper and Wendy had found a running trail that led back into the woods. One barrier stood in the way—about fifty feet behind their fence, a creek, not dry but nowhere near full, flowed through a steep-sided set of banks, and finding a crossing place took them out of their way. Finally, though, they were able to scramble down the west bank, step on a flattened boulder that split the stream, and then climb up the east bank.

"Not so good," Wendy said as she helped haul Dipper up. "Wonder if anybody would mind if we built a temporary bridge and hauled it across the gorge. Fifteen feet would do it."

"I don't know," Dipper said. "I guess a couple of four-by-four beams and a four-by-eight sheet of half-inch plywood would let us make a two-foot-wide platform."

"Look at you, Dipper Pines, Master Carpenter!" Wendy said, chuckling. "Tell you what, let's get the material and cut it to size, haul it out here, and we'll see if we can make us an easier way across."

"Uh—I don't know, Wen. We might have to get a permit or something. Though Grunkle Stan said the property line runs at least as far as the creek."

"I say we try it. If nobody notices it, fine. If they do, well, we won't sign our work!"

"Yep, that's the Grunkle Stan approach, all right!"

They found no trail , but discovered that on the far side of the creek, the trees had been cut back, leaving a grassy margin that let them run more or less unimpeded. They did see some kind of animal trail once—probably deer, Wendy thought—and decided they would explore that later.

Both wore pedometers, calibrated to their stride lengths, and when these showed they had run for two miles even (Wendy's) and 1.98 miles (Dipper's, a somewhat more expensive model), Wendy decided, "Close enough! OK, let's memorize this point. Let's see, there's a group of three madrones and a California bay. Got it. Let's run the same way back until we get to the rock in the creek. That should give us nearly four miles, and then running back around the fence will even it out."

The only mishap was Dipper's taking a bad step onto the boulder, slipping, and filling his left sneaker with water—but that wasn't too bad, since they were close enough to the house for him to take off his shoes and carry them, walking instead of running. They returned to the house, showered (together, hey, they were married now!) and dressed and made a hasty breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, and took off in Wendy's Dodge Dart for class. Mabel had already left—she'd grab breakfast in the Olmsted coffee shop.

At lunch they again met with Eloise Niedermeyer, who complained about having bought the wrong book for one of her classes—she had the Seventh Edition, and the class was using the Eighth. Wendy told her not to sweat it. "That happened to me once in community college," she said. "It's cool. The only thing that's really different will be maybe the page numbers won't match up. If there's a chapter that's been expanded or some deal, just borrow a book from somebody in class and photocopy those pages."

"Ask your teacher, though," Dipper said. "It'll probably be OK, but he'll tell you if—"

"She," corrected Eloise.

"Sorry, she'll tell you if its really vital that you have the new edition."

"That's what I get for ordering it online," Eloise said. "The posted syllabus just gave the title and author and didn't say anything about the edition. And, look—this one's copyrighted 2015, and the eighth edition is copyrighted January of this year! Why do they change stuff so fast?"

"Knowledge always evolves," Dipper said, pontificating deliberately. "In order to keep up with the latest discoveries in, um, what is that—in freshman composition, publishers must constantly update their information. And there may be even more important reasons. Cough— _profit_ —cough."

"Hey!" Wendy said, looking up from her fruit salad, "I nearly forgot. Dip, ask her!"

"Uh, what?" Dipper asked.

"About Mabel!"

"Oh! Uh, Eloise, Mabel's auditioning for a play tonight over at Olmsted. She says the director told everyone it's OK if their friends sit quietly in the back of the theater and watch. Wendy and I are going. Want to come along and meet my sister?"

"I don't have a car," Eloise said.

"That's OK!" Wendy said. "We'll give you a ride there and back. Ever ridden in a classic 1973 Dodge Dart?"

"No—wow, that old?"

"Old but in great shape," Wendy said. "It's mine, and I'll tell you all about it later."

"Thanks, yeah, I'd love to go. What time?"

"Auditions start at seven-thirty and may run a couple of hours. We can come by and pick you up at seven-fifteen. Olmsted's only two-three miles away."

"Sure, sounds like fun!"

"Hey," Wendy said, "if you want, we'll come over like an hour earlier and we can have dinner at a restaurant. There's a sushi place within sight of the campus entrance, Mabel says."

"I love sushi! And I'm completely free after four-thirty, so that's perfect timing."

"OK, deal. Dipper will give you a call as we get close, and you can meet us at the bus stop in the main parking lot. We'll come by and pick you up at six."

"Mabel won't be with us, though," Dipper said. "She's staying over after her classes and told me she won't eat before the audition because she gets butterflies and she doesn't want to throw up during the audition."

"Not that anything like that ever stopped her before," Wendy said.

"Yeah," Dipper agreed. "My sister gets more enjoyment out of nausea than anybody I know."

"I am so looking forward to meeting her!" Eloise said.

"It's . . . an experience," Dipper said with a grin.

* * *

Mabel had found a music student, Miho Tanaka, who agreed to help her with the song. After their classes, they met in the music building, Miho arranged for a practice room with an upright piano. "OK," she said. She had no trace of accent and was a willowy girl a little shorter than Mabel, with a peach-like complexion and inky black hair. She sat on the piano bench and put the sheets of music up on the stand. "These rooms have good soundproofing," she told Mabel. "Don't think you have to hold back, but don't belt it out so loud that you hurt your throat. Key of C, huh? OK, stand here. You need the lyrics?"

"Got 'em in my head," Mabel said.

"Here's a middle C." Miho played the note three times. "Now tune up. As I play, you sing—just an 'ah' will do. Here we go."

At first Miho played the solitary note, and Mabel _aahed_ the same one. "Good," Miho said. "Let's run the scales. I'll do chords this time. I'll vamp for three measures, then we start at Do."

So Mabel sang "Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti Do," going up, and then coming down again.

"Very good!" Miho said. "I'm gonna run through the song first, and then you can sing through it. How long is this?"

"It's supposed to be no longer than a minute and a half," Mabel said. "I've timed it out at one minute."

Miho hummed to herself. "About 175 beats per minute. Listen to this and see if it sounds OK." She played the tune through, then said, "Wait, I rushed it a little. Little bit slower."

"Sounds great," Mabel said.

"Very good. Get ready. Take good deep breaths. Ready?"

"Ready!"

"Then this time, sing it."

Miho matched her pacing and they went through the song. "Little bit faster this time, I think," Miho said. "Like this." She played the first few lines. "Got it?"

"Yeah, got it."

"Here we go."

This time the song just felt so right that Mabel opened up a little—not belting it, but singing with considerable gusto. Miho giggled as they finished. "Very nice, Mabel! How many times do you want to go through it?"

"Three?"

"Three it is."

By the time they finished, Mabel was feeling good about the song. She'd practiced with her puppet—it was in a duffel at the moment—and one final time she asked for Miho to play while she sang the song and manipulated the puppet.

This time Miho clapped her hands. "You're very good!" she said. "I like the way you changed your voice!"

Mabel made the puppet say, "Thank you! But this is my natural singing voice. My name's Willow! Shake!"

Miho shook the puppet's hand. "Ooh, she took hold of my hand! Where did you get this?"

"I made her," Mabel said.

"Really?"

"Really. I do a lot of sewing, and I've made tons of puppets before. This one's pretty complex. I'm proud of the girl."

Willow said, "Why, thank you, Mommy!"

Mabel then said, "Thank you so much, Miho. Can I pay you for this?"

"No, this is friendship!" Miho said. "But tomorrow maybe you can buy me a tea?"

"You got it." They had, in fact, met in the campus coffee shop the previous week. They had discovered a few things they held in common—Miho had gone to high school in Oakland, at a school not five miles away from Piedmont High, and they even had two or three mutual friends.

Mabel sat beside her on the bench and started to play her song in a lower register.

"I didn't know you played piano," Miho said.

"Keyboard, really," Mabel said. "I never had lessons. I just fool around."

"Know this one?" Miho started to play the melody of "Heart and Soul."

"One of the first ones I learned!" Mabel took up the bass line. The girls played a duet.

"You are not bad for someone who had no lessons!" Miho said. "You must have a lot of talents."

"Meh, I just like to do a lot of different stuff. Mostly visual and plastic art. But I was cast in our senior play in high school, and I guess I got bit by the theater bug. Want to come watch me audition tonight?"

"Sorry, I have a date for dinner. But if you make it in, I'll be sure to come see the play!"

"What's your boyfriend like?" Mabel asked.

Miho laughed. "She is a very pretty girl," she said.

Mabel blushed a little. "Sorry."

"That's all right. You didn't know."

"It doesn't bother me," Mabel said. "I mean, I have a boyfriend myself—oh, shut up, Mabel, I shouldn't make a big deal out of it."

"Don't be upset. I'm not offended," Miho said. "And I wasn't going to make a pass at you! And I have many friends of both kinds. Let's meet tomorrow in the coffee shop at the same time, and you can tell me how you did in the audition."

Mabel agreed. Though it was still a little early, she walked over to the theater building and found the doors already open. A dozen hopeful students sat up on the front rows of the main stage, and Mabel spotted Dally Lombard among them. She walked down the aisle, spoke to Dally, and Dally moved so they could sit next to each other. "Ready?" Dally asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Mabel said. "I'm nervous, though."

"What's in your bag?"

Mabel took Willow out. "I made her for the audition."

"Wow! Good job!"

"Her name's Willow."

"Willow!" Dally said, sounding delighted. "Like in those Granite Rapids books! I love those!"

"Oh, you read them?" Mabel asked.

"Yeah! I mean, my little brother got the first one, and he thought it was funny, so I read it, and we buy them all now. They're a little young, but I don't care. Good stories!"

"I like them, too," Mabel said. She silently congratulated herself. Her impulse had been to blurt out, "My brother writes those!" But she fought it down. She'd ask Dipper first. _I'm really getting all mature here! About time!_

Dr. Mayberry, one of the drama teachers, walked out onstage and silently counted heads. "We'll be ready to begin in five minutes," she announced. "I'll ask you all to come up on stage and wait in the wings until your turn comes. Dr. Dyer, Dr. Mikklewaite, and I will be down in the front row observing when you do the scenes. We'll start with your monologues, go on to your songs, and then we'll put you in groups and run you through a few scenes from the show. Right now we're six actors short, according to the info sheets you guys filled out. We'll wait five, and then if anyone's still missing, we'll wait five more, but that's it. Remember, you can't be late if you're in a show. Though I should be talking to the tardies!"

Mabel heard a little murmur of conversation and turned around to look toward the back of the auditorium. A couple of dozen people were sitting already, and Mabel spotted Dipper, Wendy, and a girl with light brown hair whom she didn't know just coming in. She nudged Dally. "Hey, there's my brother and sister-in-law!"

Dally turned around. "Which ones?"

Mabel stood and waved, and Wendy and Dipper waved back and said something to the girl Mabel didn't know.

"He's kinda hunky!" Dally said.

"Yeah, I'll introduce you later. His name's Dipper, she's Wendy."

"I love her hair!"

"She's cool. You'll like her a lot. Everybody does!"

Four students came hustling down to the front. A moment later, Dr. Mayberry, a thin, dark-haired woman in a tan jumpsuit, switched on a microphone. "All right, people, your attention! I'm Jean Mayberry, and I'll be directing this show. I have some of you in my classes, but all of you are welcome. I assume you're here to try out for the musical. Anybody think this audition was for _Anne Frank_? No? Good. I'm going to call the roll. Anyone who isn't here will have five extra minutes, and after that they're cut. Here we go. Adams, Andy."

One of the aspiring actors, McKenna, Tracy, answered "Here!" breathlessly as she came running toward the stage. Another, Questel, Stephen, didn't answer at all. But even without him, there were twenty-six aspirants for the nine roles and three understudies.

One by one, the students went onstage and delivered their self-chosen monologues, short speeches from a number of different plays, from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ to _A Chorus Line._ Mabel had chosen a speech from _You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown,_ in which Sally, Charlie Brown's sister, rants at having been given a grade of C for a coat-hanger sculpture she'd made for kindergarten art class. She got some laughs, which was a good sign.

Next, they all went, one by one, over to the piano to give their sheet music to Mr. Bruce Mikklewaite, the music and voice director for the show. Mabel sat fidgeting uneasily as some really good singers sang parts of show tunes—"I Could Have Danced All Night," which she had herself considered because she'd played that part in high school, "Hey, Big Spender," several others. Then it was her turn. She picked up her duffel, went over to the piano, and handed her sheet music to Mr. Mikklewaite. He ran his eye over it, chuckled, and said, "This is offbeat! OK, key of C. Ready?"

"Just a second." Mabel took Willow from her duffel bag, took center stage, and nodded.

Mr. Mikklewaite must have known the tune well, because he played it with a sprightly verve that Miho's accurate playing had not quite showed. Mabel manipulated the puppet, looking at her, focusing attention on her, making her seem to sing with a wonderful sort of jaunty confidence—

* * *

_Oh, I'm a lumberjane, and I'm all right!_

_I chop by day and I dream by night!_

_I cut those trees, I chop that wood,_

_I have luncheon from a pail!_

_I replant so the forest's good,_

_Sometimes I blaze a trail—_

* * *

Even over her singing, she heard one of the other girl auditioners say, "I give up," and right then the butterflies in her stomach stopped flapping.

She didn't stop until she finished the song, but as she got a round of applause even from the other students, she was thinking, _Oh, yeah, I'm in!_

* * *


	8. Pins. Needles.

**Zero Regrets**

* * *

_(September 11, 2017)_

**8: Pins. Needles.**

"Do you need to go back?" Wendy whispered to Eloise. Up on stage, three actors were talking about the difficulty of finding affordable housing in Brooklyn.

Eloise thought for a few seconds. "I think they're winding down. I'd like to say hi to Dipper's sister. It's . . . barely ten. Let's hang on at least for a few more minutes."

All of the auditioning students had spoken their monologues and sung their songs. For the past hour and more, they had been taking different parts and, scripts in hand, acting them out, improvising the blocking. They swapped the roles around. For a while, Mabel was Katie, then Lucy, then Christmas Eve, and once even Gary Coleman. Yes, the late Gary Coleman. The script had him as a character—he was the supervisor of the apartment building where the idealistic English-major college graduate Princeton eventually found a room he could afford.

As the different actors took their turns, the observing teachers conferred, and they had the arrangements changed. Mabel read Katie together with three different guys as Princeton, her love interest. Then she read Lucy with two different Princetons. Then she took turns as other characters, even Trekkie, who was a male puppet but whom she made sound hilarious. At one point, Wendy leaned over and whispered, "Mabel's read more times than any of the other girls."

"Uh-huh." Dipper was squirming a little. This play . . . was not like any puppet show he'd ever seen. He hadn't known anything about it, and all that Mabel knew was that it was a parody of _Sesame Street._ However, it shaped up as a very adult kind of parody. For one thing, Trekkie the monster was not a fan of cookies, but of TV and the Internet. And evidently, he was convinced that the Internet was created only to deliver porn to the audience.

And, um. There were several, um. You know. Sex scenes. Princeton and Kate, then Princeton and Lucy. And the two roommates, Nikki and Rod, apparently had some conflict because Rod was gay but closeted and Nikki was straight but didn't mind his roommate's orientation.

From his childhood, Dipper could remember the TV show, with its big bird, its ashcan-dwelling garbage-loving puppet who was grumpy and liked anything rotten and rusty, its faux vampire who loved to count ("Ah-ha-ha"), the uptight Bert and the goofy Ernie with his little yellow rubber bathtub ducky . . . all of it fun and innocent.

Well, _this_ show was different.

All through the auditions, the few dozen friends and family in the back of the theater laughed out loud at the lines. Eloise laughed a lot. And Dipper had noticed that Mabel was getting an enthusiastic response. After one funny scene, he could hear someone down past Eloise asking, "Who's that girl?"

"Pines, I think."

"She's good!"

The apartment-finding scene proved to be the last one that night. At a couple of minutes past ten, Dr. Mayberry said, "Thank you, people! You've got the address for the department's web page. Check there for callbacks. Now, if you don't get a callback, don't despair. Just wait until we make our final selections. We very well may make early decisions and cast a role or two, and we also may be casting some of you as understudies. Let me see . . . Mabel Pines, I'd like just a short word with you, please. Everyone else may go."

Wendy, Dipper, and Eloise got up and moved out of the aisle so the actors and their friends could meet and crowd out of the theater, chattering and laughing. When the traffic had cleared, they walked down front, where Mabel and Dr. Mayberry were coming down the steps from the stage. ". . . so keep that in mind," Dr. Mayberry said. "And don't be disappointed that we can't use Willow."

"I'm not!" Mabel said. "I didn't think you would, but I wanted to show that I could handle puppets."

"I'm impressed," Dr. Mayberry said. "I definitely want you to coach those who haven't had experience with puppets before."

"Sure, I'll be glad to do that!" Mabel said. "Know what the rookie mistake is? This!" She held up her hand and changed her voice. "I'm a puppet, and I'm talking!" Her thumb stayed put, but her four fingers, together as if in a mitten, flapped up and down. "Uh-uh. You gotta learn to do this." That time she kept her fingers slightly curved, bent her thumb, and moved that as she said, "Now I'm talking!"

Dr. Mayberry chuckled. "That's something I didn't know! You're definitely the official puppetry coach."

"Oh, hi! Dr. Mayberry, this is my brother Dipper and his wife Wendy—she was the model for Willow, you can probably see—and—uh—"

"Eloise Niedermeyer," Dipper said. "Hi. We're all students at Western Alliance, but we decided to come cheer Mabel on."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Dr. Mayberry said. "I'm afraid we have to scoot—I promised the housekeeping staff that we'd clear the building by 10:15. I'll be in touch, Mabel!"

They all walked out. In the parking lot, under the glare of a big mercury-vapor light, Mabel said, "So you're Eloise! Dipper told me about how you two got chased by ghosts."

"Hi," Eloise said. "Yeah, I can't talk about that to anybody at home. They think I'm crazy."

"Phhbbt! Not me! I've been through stuff you wouldn't believe yourself! Couple of ghosts, a President of the United States who hibernated for over a hundred years in peanut brittle. He made me an honorary Congressman!"

"Congressperson," Wendy corrected.

"That, too. So—ooh, I can't stand it! How'd I do?"

"If you don't get a role," Eloise said, "somebody's bribed the directors! You were great!"

Mabel dropped her duffel and hugged Eloise, who looked a little startled. "I love this girl! Oh, wait, I didn't mean that to sound erotic! I just mean I admire your taste in theater!"

"That's OK," Eloise said as Mabel stepped back. "I, um, you know—don't date girls or—wow."

"I told you," Dipper said. "Mabel is an experience."

"And she's sort of engaged to a guy who's away at film school," Wendy added.

Eloise sounded a little flustered, but enthusiastic: "Yeah, but—really, you were amazing. I heard people saying so. And you've got a good voice for singing, too, and the puppet was fantastic."

"And . . . .?" Mabel said.

Wendy punched her shoulder. "Stop fishing for compliments! You were great. We knew you would be. You gonna have dinner now? The sushi place—"

"It closes at ten," Mabel said. "I'll drive back to the house. Any leftovers?"

"We ate at the sushi restaurant," Dipper said. "But if you want sandwiches, there's some turkey breast in the fridge that needs to be finished, and we've got chips in the pantry, and remember, there's still some frozen stuff from the reception."

"I'll throw something together!" Mabel yawned. "I better take off before I go to sleep. I'm parked over in lot C."

"Hop in, we'll drive you," Wendy said, leading the way to the Green Machine.

"Nah, I can walk. It's just across campus—"

"Mabel," Dipper said firmly, "what's Rule One?"

"Who told you about fight club?" she demanded.

"Not the movie! Safety Rule Number One!"

"Oh . . . don't walk alone after dark."

"Bingo," Wendy said. "So get in and tell me how to get to Lot C."

They dropped Mabel off at her car, waited until she started the engine and backed out of her parking slot, and then they started out for Western Alliance. "We'll drop you off at Colby," Wendy said.

"Yeah, the rule applies to you, too," Dipper said.

"Dip's a worrier," Wendy told her.

Eloise laughed. "I know! Dipper, Mabel's great. I want to get to know her."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about that," Dipper said. "You'd better watch out for her. I'm pretty sure she's determined to hook you up with a guy."

"What guy?" she asked, sounding amused.

"Yet to be identified. She insists she's the world's best matchmaker."

"Mm, well—I'll take that under consideration. Seriously, though, she's really talented. And I can see the family resemblance."

"You should have seen them when they were, like, twelve," Wendy said. "Put a wig on Dipper, he could've passed for her."

"I did once! We're not identical twins," Dipper said. "Fraternal. But, yeah, there's a resemblance. We have a couple of great-uncles who are identical twins."

"Oh, it runs in the family!"

"About that. I'm kind of on pins and needles," Wendy said as she turned into the semicircular drive in front of Colby Dormitory. "One of these days Dip and me are gonna want to have kids, and twins—well! Here you are, Eloise. Walk her to the door, Dipper."

The door was only fifty steps away. "That's OK," Eloise said.

But Dipper got out of the passenger seat. "I can't make my sister obey Rule One unless I uphold it myself," he said. "This was fun." He held the door for her. "Hey, we want you to come to our house for dinner one day . . . ."

* * *

When Dipper and Wendy got back to the house, Mabel was eating at the dining room table, the puppet Willow propped up in a chair next to her, Tripper curled up on the floor trying to look as if she hadn't been tossing him small pinches of turkey sandwich. "How'd I do?" Mabel asked, her mouth full of bread and turkey.

"Mabes, you were incredible!" Wendy said. "You know you were!"

"You nailed it, Sis," Dipper agreed.

"Yeah, but—" Mabel swallowed and took a big gulp of milk—"but they say the upperclassmen usually get the plum roles. Anyhow, I'll be the assistant director for puppetry! Dr. Mayberry said—"

"We heard, Mabel," Dipper reminded her. "Good job on the song, by the way."

"What's that from?" Wendy asked. "It's kinda familiar."

"It's from Monty Python," Dipper said. "Mabel rewrote the lyrics. Dad has this videotape of, um, _Something Different_?"

" _And Now for Something Completely Different,"_ Mabel corrected. "It's like a movie, what's the word, anthology. Collection of skits. The Monty Pythons are British comedians. Hilarious! Dip, you and Wendy gotta watch that movie!"

"I'll see if I can find it!" Dipper said, trying to override his increasingly loud sister. "See, originally _Monty Python_ was a sketch comedy show—"

" _Monty Python's Flying Circus!_ " interrupted Mabel. "Get it right! Sheesh, he can remember the names of people that went out hunting the Loch Ness Monster, but he can't remember—"

"All right," Dipper said. "Anyway, it was a sketch comedy show—you know, not a continuing story, but just little short plays about different things—"

"A guy comes into a pet store to complain that a parrot he bought won't talk—'cause it's dead!" Mabel said. "And there's one about a dance that involves slapping people with a fish—" she crumpled up, laughing.

"We'll find a copy of the movie," Dipper promised. "We'll all watch it one night."

"Oh, hey," Mabel said. "That reminds me—I got a 98 on my math homework! I'm finally getting a handle on algebra. Thanks, Dip!"

Dipper asked, "How did that remind you of—"

Wendy said, "Doesn't matter. Congrats, Mabes."

When Mabel finished her sandwich, they all pitched in to wash her few dishes and tidy up, and then, at nearly eleven o'clock, they all turned in.

And a moment later, Mabel tapped on their door and asked Dipper if she could use his laptop. "Sure," he said, standing there in his underwear. He picked the computer up—it was in his satchel—and asked, "What's up?"

"I gotta go online and check the call-back page! Just in case! My tablet's too slow loading!"

"Mabel, they won't put anything up until later," Dipper said. "Anyway, sure, here's the laptop. Just don't stay up too late, OK? You need some sleep."

"Who can sleep?" Mabel asked. "My bed's full of pins and needles!"

When Dipper got under the sheets, Wendy said, "You know, you two are real different, but in some ways you're still a whole lot alike."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—you're the worrywart. But Mabel did such a great job tonight, and still she's worrying that the director won't pick her or whatever. That's typical for you, but I guess Mabel's got the gene, too."

"Maybe. Unless she worked on sewing the puppet in her bed," Dipper said. "With Mabel, you can't tell. Her bed may literally be full of pins and needles."

He switched off the bedside lamp.

Wendy put her arm over his chest. "Another way you're alike," she said. "You're always up for anything."

"Um—" Dipper said, grinning in the dark. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

She rolled against him and showed him what she meant.

* * *


	9. Come to My Office

**Zero Regrets**

* * *

**_(September 12, 2017)_ **

**9: Come to My Office**

Tuesday shaped up not to be the day to relieve anxieties or to blunt the points of pins and/or needles. Instead, it became the day to be called into the office—is that ever a good sign? Even a third grader knows to be scared when the PA calls her name and says, "Come to the principal's office." A rough, tough bird colonel shivers in his boots when the orderly says, "Sir, the General wants to see you." A British earl starts to sweat at the brusque announcement, "The Queen wants you straightaway." A cabinet member hastily writes a will when she gets the message, "Come to the White House. He wants a word with you."

And Tuesday . . . for some reason . . . was the day for such messages.

* * *

Though he used it only a few times a year, Stanford Pines, as the head of the Agency—his predecessor had been called "The Professor," and by some process he didn't understand, Stanford had become either "P" or "Dr. P"—had worked mostly out of Washington, where Stanford had _another_ office, in which he spent from two to four weeks a year, though not all at once.

However, connected electronically as he was, Stanford had no need to be physically present. Besides, the Professor, now serenely retired, lived just across the Potomac and was still available to drop in if a crisis arose. Stanford maintained a daily briefing via a secure two-way video link—an hour a day while he maintained contact with the Agency's operations and personnel. The Professor had assembled an outstanding staff there, and Stanford trusted them to handle every normal operation.

But sometimes he had to make a personal appearance, and this was one of those times. He flew into Sacramento on a very early flight, was picked up by a GIB (though she wasn't a Guy, but a Gal, in black). She drove him to what for years had been the central office for the Agency's operations in the westernmost third of the USA, geographically speaking. It was an unassuming building behind a triple layer of chain-link fences, with signs prominently warning AGRICULTURAL PATHOGEN EXPERIMENT STATION NO ADMITTANCE.

Thing was, the installation was akin to a specimen of _Armillaria mellea_ , an underground fungus that is mostly unseen—nearly one hundred per cent of it grows underground. One, in the Blue Mountains of Oregon, is believed to be the largest living organism on Earth.

Well, West-1 (W1) of the Agency shared that characteristic. The one-story white building, about the size of your typical waffle restaurant, was only the anteroom. Once you stepped inside and were cleared by an array of sensors and imagers and a crew of humans, you took an elevator down to the operations level, which sprawled over a couple of acres. The parking lot for the installation was ridiculously small—twelve slots.

Thing was, there were other ways in. A bank about half a mile away included a private office that only high-level clients (Agents, all of them) could access, and inside that was a vault, and inside the vault was an elevator down . . . and the same for a dry-cleaning business in a suburban shopping center, and a doctor's office that offered "Painful Surgery in the Genital Area" (not one single real patient had ever dropped in in ten years) had a similar elevator and . . . you get the idea.

Each entrance passed visitors through a barrier of identification and clearance stages.

This is long-winded. Put it briefly. Getting into the office area was a bitch.

Ford said good morning to the AOD (Assistant on Duty), Mr. Tang, who was about to sign out and go home. His replacement, Mrs. Leary, checked in and greeted Ford, showing no surprise at his walking in unannounced. By the way, Lawrence Tang and Eugenia Leary were their real names. Only Agents rechristened themselves. That's how the Agency got Agent Hazard, Agent Powers, and Agent Trigger and a hundred or more others.

Ford settled in at his desk—immaculate, not a speck of dust anywhere, the IN tray neatly stacked.

He spent an hour reading through the memos—nothing demanding much attention—and initialed all of them, checking a box on each: ACCEPTED FOR ACTION, NO ACTION, FILE, and so on. Had he not come in, he would have taken care of everything electronically. At eight AM his time, eleven in D.C., he tapped a button and the conference screen swiveled up from his desktop. It fired up automatically, and a gray-haired woman in a silvery gray uniform appeared on the screen. She pulled her spectacles from up on her forehead down to her eyes. "Good morning, P."

"Good morning, Martha. Are we ready to begin?"

"We're ready. I see you're in W1."

"Yes, bit of business here, nothing of official concern."

"E1 is online. C1 is online. And I take it you will be handling W1."

"No, get the regional online."

"W1 online. You may go."

The supervisors of the Agency's actions for the USA appeared on inset screens. "Good morning," Stanford said. "Let's have the status reports, please."

It was a very quiet day. Nothing at all alarming in the east, central, or western regions. Deputy Director-in-Chief Powers, his mustache a little grayer, his hair a little scanter these days, reported nothing of concern internationally. Three out of four days were like this, but those fourth days could be hectic.

"Thank you all," Ford said after forty-five minutes. "See you again tomorrow. W1, please come see me in the DIC office."

Regional Director Trigger, always wound tight, looked alarmed but said, "Yessir."

Ford waited one minute and twenty seconds before Mrs. Leary ushered in a visibly tense Trigger. "Thank you, Eugenia," Ford said. "That will be all. Mr. Trigger, be seated—and relax, this is not a reprimand."

Trigger exhaled. He sat stiffly in the visitor's chair. "Reporting, sir."

"Let's be informal."

"I—don't know how to be informal, sir."

Ford smiled. "All right, I'm here to tell you that your request for extra manpower has been considered. I've analyzed the problems that have popped up. You're absolutely right—paranormal occurrences in the W1 area are considerably higher than those in either of the other two regions. But more manpower—this is a big installation, but we'd need to expand it, and that would be a matter of years to build up the infrastructure. I've decided instead to create a new subdivision, West-2. The real areas of concern comprise Idaho, Oregon, Washington State, and beyond those we'll throw in Alaska, which really rarely offers any kind of challenge. W-2 will be a small office, comparatively, but highly mobile. The subregion director will be able to call on you for technical and personnel support, of course, under Provisions A/R. Initially at least, the subregion director will report to me and to you in tandem. Your observations?"

"It may be a stopgap solution, sir."

"It may be only that," Ford agreed. "But we have an installation in Oregon ready and only minimally manned, so we would have no requirement to embark on a building program. This will allow you to concentrate on the flashpoints of California, New Mexico, and currently South Dakota without worrying about the ongoing level of paranormal activity in the Northwest. I propose to launch the subregion in October. We'll give it a year and then evaluate."

"Who's going to direct it, sir?"

"I'm promoting Agent Hazard to subregion director. She's got the years in, she's extremely competent, and she has good personnel skills."

Did Trigger allow himself the smallest of smiles? Anyway, he said, "I agree with your choice, sir. In addition to her other qualities, she can kick ass."

"Indeed," Ford said. "She can kick major ass."

* * *

It was almost time for Anthropology 1101, the only Tuesday/Thursday class that Dipper and Wendy had together, but first they had to see Dr. Lyndon, their ESCI2112 (Earth Dynamics and Landforms) professor. That was a Monday/Wednesday/Friday class, but the teacher had emailed them both for a brief meeting.

Geology was new for both of them, but so far, they were enjoying it. They had no idea what Dr. Lyndon wanted. In a similar situation back in high school, Dipper would be at about three on the panic meter (it ranges from one, cool cucumber, to five, quivering mass of jelly), but—ah, the blessings of matrimony!—with Wendy's laid-back mindset, all he had to do was hold her hand to calm down a little.

"Your hand's sweaty," she observed.

Dr. Lyndon, a stocky guy with a brush cut and a round bald spot like a monk's tonsure, thanked them for coming in and then said, "Ordinarily, I don't do this, and I don't want to look like I'm accusing you of anything, but—you're a married couple."

"We don't make a secret of that," Wendy said.

"No, that's not what I meant," he said with a smile. "Here's the thing: two weeks from Friday we have our first in-class test. Understand, now, I don't think you'd cheat, but since you're a couple, we need to avoid even the appearance of irregularity. I'm going to ask you to sit on opposite sides of the classroom for the test."

"Oh," Dipper said. "Uh—sure. We wouldn't cheat—"

"I didn't think you would," Lyndon said. "But I've observed your homework—do you do it together, by the way?"

"We compare our papers, but we do them separately," Wendy said. "And if we have differences, we talk them over. Try to see which one's right and why."

"I don't object to that," Lyndon said. "The important thing is that you learn—if you learn better when you cooperate, that's all well and good. But tests—well, they can't be cooperative. I hope you understand."

"Sure," Wendy said. "If we both get good grades, other students might think we were copying off each other."

"It's OK," Dipper said. "We'll come in a little early. How far apart do you want us?"

"What would you do?"

Wendy said, "How about I sit on the left side of the room, in the last desk, and he sits in the front desk on the right side?"

"That would be fine," Lyndon told her. "Or even separate yourselves by, say, two rows. Thank you for understanding."

They thanked him and hurried to their anthropology class. Wendy asked, "You mad, dude?"

"No, but I feel guilty. I don't know why. I guess just because it's like he thinks we _might_ cheat."

"I dealt with this before," Wendy said. "My very first college class, the teacher thought I'd copied my first essay. Had to sit in front of him for an hour and write a different one to show him I could do it. I guess college teachers just have to watch out for stuff like that."

"Yeah," Dipper said. "I guess."

* * *

Mabel, pale and feeling as though she had eaten six corndogs followed by three chocolate Sundaes and then had climbed onto a six-loop inverting quick-launch roller-coaster, came into the Student Union coffee shop, saw Miho standing in line, and quickly came up beside her. "Hi," she said. "I'm sorry, but I can't have lunch with you today. Tomorrow?"

"What's wrong?" Miho asked.

"I don't know. I haven't done anything!" She showed Miho a note, hand-written on Olmsted letterhead: _MS Pines, please see me in my office as soon as possible. If you have your puppet, bring it. Dr. Jean Mayberry—Cable Hall, 221._

"Who's that?" Miho asked.

"She's the director of _Avenue Q._ I'm on my way there—gotta stop by my car, I left Willow in the trunk last night—I hope I'm not being cut! Lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure. Good luck!"

"Thanks, I may need it!" Mabel left the Student Union at a run, dashed all the way to C parking lot, found Helen Wheels where she'd left her, and popped the trunk. Mabel grabbed the duffel and headed back, stopped, returned to the car, and closed the trunk—she'd forgotten to do that.

Then she hurried to Cable Hall, the theater building. To get there, she ran through the length of the Visual Arts building, just so she could pop into the women's room because she badly needed to pee. That taken care of, she washed her hands, dashed out, dashed back, picked up the duffel, and finally got over to Cable.

And, of course, the schedule on Dr. Mayberry's door showed that she was at lunch until one-fifteen. Mabel sat on the floor in the hall and waited for forty minutes, asking herself, _What did I do? What did I do?_

She called her Grunkle Stan, just because she needed to talk. Stan was reassuring: "Sweetie! This ain't you. Dipper's being a bad influence. You ain't supposed to be the worrying twin! Come on, it's probably good news!"

"But I'm not listed on the call-back sheet," Mabel wailed. "That probably means I didn't get a part. And I tried so hard, and I thought I did good! Maybe I shouldn't have anything to do with puppets. Last time, you had to pay a thousand dollars to fix up the theater after the accident with the fireworks!"

A pause, and then Stan asked, "How'd you even know that?"

"I have my ways. Puppets! What was I thinking?"

"Come on, Pumpkin. My grandpa used to tell us, 'Don't borrow trouble, 'cause the interest is too high.'"

"What does that mean?"

"No idea. But I'd say it was don't worry about stuff until you know there's somethin' to worry about. Where are you?"

"Sitting on the floor outside the director's office, where people have to step over my legs."

"That's no good. Go sit outside in the sunshine."

"It's cloudy today."

"So go sit in the cloudshine. Ya got any change on you?"

"Uh—yeah, in my wallet. Why?"

"There a vending machine in the buildin'?"

"Yeah, downstairs near the bathrooms."

"So go buy a pack of peanuts—"

"I can't eat anything! I'd puke!"

"No, no, listen to me. Buy some peanuts, go outside and find a place to sit where your butt won't get wet, and feed the squirrels. If you got no squirrels, feed the birds. Talk to them. Look how happy they are. That's 'cause they don't stop and worry. Get your mind off this, take it as it comes, and if this director blames you for something, explain how it wasn't your fault and blame somebody else instead."

"Who?"

"I dunno. Congress. The head of the Federal Reserve. The Chinese. It don't matter, just deflect. But I'll betcha you're not in for punishment."

Just talking to Stan had calmed her down a little. Mabel said, "I never thought, but she may want me to be in charge of making puppets."

"Yeah! So wait and see before you panic. And even then, don't panic. Just be loud and confident and smile like you know you're right, even if you don't. Remember how you bluffed that triangle guy! You can do it."

"I can do it."

"You're Mabel Pines!"

"Yeah!" she said. "I'm Mabel Pines!"

"Mabel Pines," a voice said, "Dr. Mayberry will see you now."

She jumped up, went to the open office door, came back and picked up the duffel bag, and swallowed hard, wondering what Dr. Mayberry was going to say.

* * *


	10. Just. Wow.

**Zero Regrets**

_(September 12, 2017)_

* * *

**10: Just. Wow.**

Dr. Mayberry smiled as Mabel all but stumbled into her office, momentarily catching her duffel bag on the door frame. "Good afternoon."

A red-faced Mabel, still retaining her balance, blurted, "Hi. Uh. Good afternoon, Dr. Mayberry."

"Are you well?" the professor asked, gazing at her.

Mabel's voice was shaking: "Yes." She closed her lips, and her cheeks inflated. Then all her frustration burst out: "No. I'm dying! My name wasn't on the callback list—"

"Mabel." Maybe Dr. Mayberry's voice was too calm and soft to get through.

Now Mabel's voice started to catch in her throat: "—and I t-tried really h-hard, and I thought I did pretty well—"

"Mabel."

"—tell me what I d-did wrong, and maybe next t-time I c-can—"

Dr. Mayberry raised her voice but didn't quite shout: "Mabel! I want to cast you as Kate Monster."

Now nearly in tears, Mabel said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have fouled up—wait, what?"

Dr. Mayberry pointed to a chair. "Sit down and catch your breath. Deep breaths now. Are you OK now?" She pushed a box of tissues across the desk, and Mabel snatched out four.

"Uh-huh."

"Will you listen to me, please?"

Mabel nodded as she wiped her eyes.

Dr. Mayberry sat behind her desk and looked benign. "All right. Would you like to play the role of Kate Monster?"

Mabel jumped right up from the chair, fists raised like the boxer in that old Rocky movie. "It's the role I was born to play!"

Dr. Mayberry held up a hand to ask for Mabel's attention. "Hear me out."

"Shut up, Mabel!" She clapped her hands over her mouth to show she was being really hard on herself and then collapsed back into the chair.

Dr. Mayberry took a long, deep breath. "All right. Professor Mikklewaite liked your singing a lot. He acknowledges that you haven't had the voice training that some of the other students have had, but on the other hand, he thought you sang very expressively and that your voice is clear and on-pitch. He insisted that you be cast, and I also think that you did an exceptional job manipulating the puppet. I agree you deserve to be part of this production. Now, I'd seriously been considering whether to cast you as Lucy—"

Mabel popped up again like a Jack in the Box on amphetamines. "It's the role I was born to play! Also!"

"—except that Bruce insists that your voice and your sense of humor suit you better for Kate. Can you please just sit still and listen?"

"Not yet! Permission to do a jig of joy?"

Shaking her head but smiling Dr. Mayberry asked, "Will that calm you down?"

"We don't know until we try!"

Dr. Mayberry crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Very well. Dance your jig. I'll wait!"

For five seconds, Mabel hopped around, fist-bumping the air. "Yes! Yes! Yes! I'll act and sing on stage! Go, Mabel, Go!" Then she sat down, put her hands on her knees, and primly crossed her legs at the ankle. "I'm calm now."

Looking mildly skeptical, the professor asked, "You're not going to be this way during rehearsals, are you?"

Mabel gave her an impressively military salute. "Not unless you direct me to, Ma'am!"

"All right. Hear me out, now. We think we have our Trekkie Monster, our Brian, and our Christmas Eve, assuming they all agree to play the roles. For the other roles we still have some considerations to do, and the process of choosing those accounts for the fourteen names on the callback list. For you, I'd like to try something, but it will mean extra work. Normally, Kate and Lucy are played by the same actress. As I told everyone, we wanted to offer as many roles as possible, so we separated them. But to give you more experience, I'd like to alternate—at one performance, you'd play Kate, and then for the next you'd trade and play the other actress's role as Lucy, and then alternate."

"Better yet!" Mabel said.

"First, that presupposes the actress we choose for Lucy will agree. You'd both have to be on board with this. Second, if you both do agree, it will mean more work."

"I never turned down a hard job," Mabel said. "You can ask my Grunkle Stan. I worked for him for six years in a world-class museum!"

"Grunkle?"

"Great uncle. My brother and I made up that word, grunkle. It's a great word! For a great-uncle, I mean, it'd be pretty terrible for a cartoon bunny rabbit! But believe me, I've got a terrific work ethic. Once my Grunkle trusted me enough to let me run the whole shebang when he was away for three days! I not only supervised some needed repairs, but made a profit! That's a funny word, shebang."

When she could wedge a word into the Mabel verbal wall, Dr. Mayberry said, "I'm sure I'll be able to judge your work ethic. This is really my main concern: unless we take on another freshman as one of the understudies, you will be the only one in the entire cast. The others are sophomores, juniors, and at least one character, Trekkie, will be played by a senior. Mabel, the concern is that you don't have a track record."

"My twin brother's a track star. I'll learn from him. Oh, wait, that's not what you meant. Sorry. Nerves!"

In a kind voice, the drama professor said, "I mean I can't track back your academic career. This show is demanding, and because of the time rehearsing will take, you'll have to work extra hard to keep your grades up. How are you at managing your time?"

Mabel wilted just a little. "Not great," she admitted. "I'm kind of used to working best under pressure. Like when I put together my own puppet show in one week, start to finish, including making forty puppets, writing the script and song lyrics, designing the special effects, and constructing and painting the set. It was really rushed, but that brought out the best in me. As far as making schedules, you know—not so good there."

"I like your honesty. However, you'll have to promise me you'll do your best to keep current with all your classes. No absences, no missed assignments, grades of C plus or better in everything. And we _will_ check, and we'll also have the understudies, so no one can expect to stay in the cast if they let things slide."

Mabel crossed her heart. "I promise. I have a Mabel plan."

Struggling to keep a smile from running away on her face, Dr. Mayberry asked. "What would that be?"

"OK," Mabel said. "So I live off-campus with my brother and sister-in-law, OK? I introduced you?"

"Yes, I remember. Aren't they starting marriage a little young?"

"Oh, honey, don't get me started! Uh—sorry about that. Seriously, they are so much more mature than most guys their age. Even more than me. Anyhow, my brother Dipper takes after my mother so much! He's like super organized! And here's what I'll do. Dipper knows what I'm studying, all my classes. I'll have him work out a study plan for me—so much time every day for each subject—and I'll put him in charge of keeping me on task. We'll have penalties, like any time I don't do the full study time, I gotta cook for everybody _and_ do the dishes. Dipper will love that! And he's a really good student, and his wife is already a sophomore 'cause she transferred credits in from a junior college."

"All right—"

"What I'm saying, they're both real smart and if I need tutoring in practically anything, they'll be able to coach me and tutor me and all. Oh, and I'll ask all my teachers to give me warnings if they think I'm slacking off."

"Mabel!" Dr. Mayberry shook her head. "I accept that. I believe you. I only hope you'll bring this much energy to rehearsals! That all sounds fine. If you'll commit to that, the role of Kate Monster is yours."

"Commitment engaged!"

"Fine. Now. Did you bring your puppet?"

"She's in this bag," Mabel said.

Dr. Mayberry stood up. "Toss the tissues into the wastepaper basket Bring your puppet with you and come with me. We're going to the shop."

They took an elevator down to the basement, then went way back to a big open space cluttered with table saws, jigsaws, drill presses, and things that Mabel didn't even recognize. "This is the set construction shop," Dr. Mayberry said. "The wardrobe shop is across the hall, just behind us. Come on."

The air smelled of pine sap and dust. One wall of the huge room had an oversized garage door, around which daylight leaked. Over on the far side of the construction area, a series of three doors opened into offices.

Dr. Mayberry tapped on one that bore a nameplate: Rudolph Stuart, Technical Director. "Come in!" someone called.

They walked in, and a bald guy, not very old, with a dark brown goatee swiveled away from a computer where he'd been working. "Dr. Mayberry," he said. "Is this the puppet girl?"

"This is Mabel Pines," Dr. Mayberry said. "She brought the puppet. Mabel, Dr. Stuart wanted to look at your work and maybe take some photos of it. Is that all right?"

"Sure!" Mabel said.

"Then I'll leave you two. Mabel, the cast list will go up on the Web site probably on Saturday morning. Before noon, anyway. Be sure to check it, but don't worry, you're in the cast. The rehearsal schedule will be up by Monday morning. I'll see you later!"

She left, and Mabel took out Willow. Dr. Stuart—"Call me Rudy"—had a kind of Southern accent that reminded Mabel a little of of a calmer Fiddleford McGucket. "Looks good. Manipulate it a little."

"OK." Mabel put her right hand into the puppet's head and used her left to work the rod that moved Willow's right hand. "Here we go."

Willow the puppet said, "Hi, Rudy! My name's Willow, and I'm a lumberjane. How do you like my axe?"

"Whoa!" Rudy said, grinning. "How do you work the left arm?"

"This string," Mabel said. A black string emerged from the puppet's waist and looped around Mabel's left thumb. She moved her thumb and made Willow raise and lower the axe.

"I didn't even notice it," Rudy said. "How do you keep the arm from flopping?"

"The left arm bones are dowels. The elbow I cut with a mortise and tenon joint, so it bends the way a real elbow does. The hand just grasps the axe and can't move, but I can unscrew it and put on other hands if I want. A lightweight spring—well, I just used an elastic—keeps the elbow straight, but when I pull the string, I can move the wrist so the elbow bends a little, and if I jiggle it, I can make her chop. You can roll up the sleeve if you want to look at it."

"Could I examine her?"

Mabel passed Willow over. Rudy examined it closely. "Quilting thread, double stitching, very nice. I'd love to have you make the puppets for the show—"

"Yes! I'd love to do it!"

"—no, that's not possible. Our licensing agreement requires us to rent the puppets, but they're made by the same production team that did the Broadway show. However, I'd like to send them pictures of your puppet. In theater you want to make all the contacts you can, and who knows? This may lend you a professional job one day."

They went into a room set up like a small photo studio—"We'll do the cast head shots here next week"—and used a Nikon to take a couple of dozen photos, ranging from full-length to close-ups of the face and more of the ingenious way the left arm was articulated. Mabel posed and had Willow smile, then look a little peeved, then appear to be conversing with her. Rudy switched to video mode and had Mabel do a short back-and-fourth with Willow. Mabel improvised a dialogue:

"Hi, I'm Mabel Pines, and this is my friend Willow. She's a lumberjack."

In her lower voice, Willow insisted, "No, I'm not. I am a lumber JANE!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose as a lumberjane, you know all about trees, right?"

"Trees! I love them. Mabel, I sure do know everything about 'em. Try me out!"

"All right, Willow. What's an evergreen?"

"That's easy. It's a tree that just never learns to be professional!"

"If you say so, OK. What's a redwood?"

"That would be an embarrassed pine tree, Mabel!"

"Oh, would it? How about a beech?"

"Love 'em! Malibu is my favorite!"

"OK, we're done here, Willow."

"What? Why stop now?" Mabel made her jiggle her prop. "You can . . . AXE . . . me anything!"

"Ack! Just say goodnight, Willow."

"Good night, Willow!" The puppet waved her right hand.

Chuckling, Rudy said, "And cut! I think they'll get a kick out of this. I'll email the video and pics to them this afternoon. Nice work, I can tell you've had some practice with puppets, and your craftsmanship is great. We're arranging for the company to ship the official puppets to us in two weeks. Hey, you want to see the photos of the one you'll be using?"

"Sure!"

They went back to his office, and he swiveled the computer screen so she could see. "The company has a whole bunch of puppets for each character, so they can send a set to any theater doing a production," he explained. "Here are some of the Kates."

"They're different styles," Mabel said in surprise. A row of wallet-sized portraits ran along the top of the screen. They were all roughly alike, but only roughly—some were brunettes, some strawberry blondes, one a bushy-haired blonde. Their faces ranged from pale pink through a light orange to one blue—that one was the blonde—and they all looked sweet and rather wistful.

"This is the one we're getting," Stuart said. He pulled up a full-screen photo of a puppeteer holding up a big-eyed Kate—her eyes were blue—with short strawberry-blonde hair, sort of a creamy subdued pink plush face, a smallish blue nose, and a great big smile. She wore a round-necked lavender sweater and just looked . . . appealing. Like a young girl yearning for love.

"I like that one!" Mabel said.

"They always check the puppets when a production returns them, make any repairs needed, and make sure they're cleaned," Stuart said. "I think this one will work really well for you. We'll get five of these, all with identical faces but different costumes. There are seven Princetons, too! But this is the basic look of the Kate you'll be working with."

"Hey, could you email me a copy of that so I can show my brother and sister-in-law what she'll look like?"

"Sure. What's your email?"

"It's . . . darn, let me look at my student ID." She fished it out and then said, "It's mwpines at student/olmstedcfa/edu. I haven't memorized it yet."

"There you go, screenshot, and send. Thanks for coming by! I'd better get back to work—I'm setting up a schedule for building and painting the flats. See you when rehearsals begin!"

Mabel, feeling much better, all but danced out. She hurried to her car, started the engine, and headed for home. She remembered then that she had skipped lunch, so she drove through the McDougalds close by the campus, picked up a bam-a-burger and fries for her and four pieces of chicken whatzits for Tripper, and with her phone plugged into the sound system, she drove home, listening to the soundtrack for _Avenue_ and singing along.

* * *


	11. Second Wnd

**Zero Regrets**

_(September 22, 2017)_

* * *

**11: Second Wind**

When Mabel made her plea, Dipper and Wendy agreed . . . with conditions.

"We've got classes and studying, too," Dipper said. "We can't hold your hand and sit beside you for every homework assignment."

"What we can do," Wendy offered, "is to have like a regular review hour every day or every other day. You pick out whatever you need to have some help with, and we'll sit down and go over your work with you."

"Deal," Mabel said. "It'll be mostly math. I have a hard time getting my head around all those x's and y's."

"What's your rehearsal schedule like?"

"It changes, but until October 23 it's two and a half hours Monday through Friday, 7:00 to 9:30, and then Saturday afternoons from 1:00 to 5:00. After that, we'll be doing run-throughs. We start out with table reads, then some vocals, and then we go on the rehearsal stage for blocking. We're supposed to be off-book in two weeks."

"When does the run start?" Dipper asked.

Mabel checked the calendar that she had printed out from the theater department's web site. "Um . . . OK, November 8th through 11th, then November 15th through 18th. We strike the set on the next day, Sunday. Oh, there's two performances on Saturdays, so that's a run of ten performances. I get four comps, so you guys and Mom and Dad can come. Maybe we can pitch in and buy tickets for our Grunkles and Graunties. That would be a total of eighty bucks."

"I think we can manage that," Dipper said. "What times are the performances?"

"Um, eight to ten-thirty PM weekdays, then on Saturdays, two PM to four-thirty, again at eight to ten-thirty."

"You call and see when Mom and Dad can come. I'll check with Stan and Ford," Dipper said. "One other thing: I have a book due to be turned in by March, so I have to have like at least an hour every day for writing. I'll probably get up at five—"

"Urk," Mabel observed.

"—yeah, and write, then get Wendy up so we can go for our run. It's OK, I usually wake up first."

He did not add that he had tried out for the WA track team—training wouldn't be too heavy until January. But he made a mental note to let her know before the end of term.

* * *

So, OK, the days passed, Mabel worked hard, and the study and review program worked out. When Mabel had to write her first English essay—"Personal Essay: What I Expect from College," she had consulted with Wendy, because Dipper's track record—as Dr. Mayberry would put it—intimidated her a little, though Mabel would never let her brother know that.

And Wendy's advice had been gold: "Mabes, there's three things that English teachers don't expect and love to find. One is organization. If you use the first paragraph to show you planned it out, you're ahead already. The second thing is to use good examples. Let me see . . . here you've got "I want to become a better artist and actress," and then three sentences that basically just repeat that. So this term, you're in a play. Mention that and your role and how it will make you a better actress, see? And then you want college to teach you to gain knowledge from your studies. Zero in on one of your courses and explain something specifically you're learning that will help you learn that."

"OK," Mabel said, making notes with a pencil. "How about my class on theater history? I could write about how we're learning the ancient Greek traditions of tragedy—Sophocles' _Oedipus the King_ could be an example—and comedy, and for that I could use Aristophanes' _The Frogs._ Except I guess the English teacher would know that already."

"Doesn't matter," Wendy said. "Go with that. All right, third thing—find a way to surprise the teacher. Like, OK, every teacher kinda expects a five-paragraph theme. Introduction, three body paragraphs, conclusion. Give her a six or seven paragraph theme instead. And see if you can change up the topic somehow so it expands the writing prompt."

As a result, Mabel's theme was "What I Expect of College, and What College Expects of Me." On the afternoon of the Friday when she got back the graded essay, she proudly showed it to her brother and sister-in-law. "Not too shabby, huh?"

Dipper grinned. The teacher had marked four errors—punctuation, one spelling error, one pronoun reference—but the grade at the top was A, and after that a handwritten note: _Good work, well-organized, and I like your selection of details. Keep it up!_

A few weeks after they had started Mabel's study program, on a Saturday morning, they all sat at the table and reviewed Mabel's report card. It was, as you might say, satisfactory: MATH1100, B+; HIST1101, A- (based on weekly quizzes, no major grade yet); THEA1101, a solid A; ENGL1101, A; and POLS1101, B (again, weekly quizzes). Wendy suggested they review political science a little more.

That same morning, Wendy and Dipper drove to a Home and Garden store and bought the materials for their bridge. Earlier in the week they had carefully measured and had bought eight pressure-treated twelve-foot-long 4x4 beams, two sheets of half-inch outdoor plywood, some primer and deck paint to protect it, four metal collar connectors for the tops and bottoms of two support beams, anchor screws, a good cordless drill and bit set, and other assorted hardware. They had to rent a truck to transport it to the garage, but that was a minor part of the purchase.

The store was kind enough to cut the plywood to their specs. It was going to be at least a three-weekend job to prepare, haul, and assemble the bridge components. The garage workshop had come equipped with some hand tools—saws, hammers, screwdrivers—and Wendy sketched out a way to construct the bridge that would be sturdy and safe, and that involved half-lap joints, cross-bracing, and two support pillars in the center of the span that could be anchored to the boulder in the stream.

Mabel, intrigued, studied their plans and kept saying that some of those techniques were being used in the set being built for her play.

She'd taken some photos in the shop and showed them. Though currently just canvas flats, unpainted and undetailed, they represented three narrow New York building fronts. On each end were stairs—a circular metal one on the left, wooden ones on the right—and each building flat had a front stoop and a practical doorway. "That means the doors open and close," Mabel said. She showed Dipper and Wendy a color sketch—brownstone, weathered wood, and dingy brick, respectively. "I'll volunteer a couple of hours on Saturday for painting these when they're ready," she said.

As they finished their grade review of Mabel, she asked for a report from them. When they told her, she said, "Yeah, just what I expected." Her brother and sister-in-law had A's in everything. In fact, Wendy had outpaced Dipper—she had straight A's, but Dipper had one A-minus in the geology class.

"You still face-timing Teek every day?" Wendy asked as they went about preparing lunch.

"Oh, yeah. He's doing great," she said. "His teachers seem to like him, and next weekend, he and some of his classmates get to go to a real movie set south of Atlanta. Some haunted-house movie, I never heard of it, but it stars Dennis March and Trini Helpern. Anyhow, they got a field trip, and they'll watch some shooting and then get a tour of some of the interior sets." She sighed. "I wish Teek could see one of my performances, but—what are you gonna do?"

That evening, when Mabel was off at rehearsal, Dipper and Wendy took the opportunity for a little skinny-dip hot-tubbing. Lying back luxuriously and conversing via telepathy, Dipper said, — _Wen? Want to run something by you._

_What is it?_

— _Well, I called Teek and checked. He gets the whole Thanksgiving week off._

_Yeah, so do we._

— _Because he's coming back home for Christmas break at the end of the first full week of December, he'd planned to stay at the film school for the Thanksgiving break. But if he could fly to Portland on the evening of November 17, then the next day—_

_Gotcha, Dip! He could see one of the Saturday performances of Mabel's play. So you're thinking, buy him a round-trip ticket?_

— _Right. And we'd have to drive up and bring him down. He could sleep in the living room on the sofa over the weekend. Then Mabel and he could drive up to Gravity falls on Monday, after she finishes her set break-down._

_How much?_

— _If he can make a five PM flight out of Atlanta, round-trip it would run about five hundred bucks, basic economy. Or the comfort class would run seven hundred. It would be, I guess, a major early Christmas present for Mabel. I mean, our rent is so cheap that we have lots of savings right now, that would hardly dent it—_

_We can do that. I say go for it. Mabes would love you forever._

— _OK, I'll check with Teek, not tonight—it's already past eleven at night in Atlanta—but tomorrow morning._

Wendy thought, _Teek will jump at the chance. It'll be a present for him, too._

— _Assuming he says yes,_ _we'll have to reserve a ticket for him for the Saturday show ASAP. Matinee, you think?_

_Yeah. Then in between that and the evening show, he and Mabel could hang out. You think the couch will be comfortable enough for him?_

— _I've napped there. It's do-able—why are you amused?_

_Just thinkin', he might want to bunk with Mabes._

After about half a minute, Dipper told her, — _OK, we won't suggest it, but if they decide—all right, they're technically adults, I won't fuss. As long as—_

Wendy laughed out loud. "Are you kids using protection?" she said. "That's exactly what my dad asked me when he found out I was in love with you. Tell you what—I'll pick up some supplies, just in case. When he gets here and we surprise her, I'll just casually let her know where to find them. We'll leave the decision to them. You're really grown-up about this."

"Well, you know—our mental make-outs were always great, but the real thing—'

"Whole new level of wow. Oh, yeah."

He agreed, "Yeah. . . ."

She nuzzled his neck a little. "Of course it wouldn't be the same for them. I mean, during the, uh, process, they wouldn't be able to follow each other's feelings telepathically."

He shivered a little. "Wouldn't be able to know when to slow down."

She sighed happily. "When to go faster."

"Try something—"

"New and feeling how the other one reacts. Mm, I love that."

"Pace each other."

"So they finish up exactly together—"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. Uh, Dipper? You think maybe right now we might—"

"Oh, yeah!"

* * *


	12. Month-iversary

**Zero Regrets**

_(September 30, 2017)_

* * *

**12: Month-iversary**

"Hey," Eloise said, looking around the great room, "so much space! My dorm room's only about a third this size. I gotta say, you guys are so lucky!"

"Thanks!" Mabel said. "I got up at six and worked like a dog to get it this clean."

"Don't believe her," Dipper cautioned. "We all got up and tidied the house. You know how it is—Wednesday, you get kind of tired and start to slack off. Dishes kinda pile up. Then on the weekend you have to catch up. It wasn't that hard. Took us maybe an hour."

"Not even that long," Wendy said. "Tell you what, let's eat lunch, and then we'll give you the grand tour."

"But I gotta leave at one-thirty," Mabel said. "Rehearsal. We're doing a run-through—well, stumble-through is more like it—and we're singing all the songs, all the way through, for the first time! You got a guy yet?"

"Not really," Eloise said.

"Mabel, rein it in," Wendy said.

"Sorry! But how do you feel about metal sculptors?"

"Eh," said Eloise.

"Scratch Buddy Pinkus! Don't worry, I'm meeting some people from Western Alliance through Wendy and Dipper, and I'm keeping a LI-ist! Stay tuned. I swear, I'll find a nice guy so you can come to the show as your first date!"

Trying to change the subject, Dipper started to ask, "You're sure that steak kebabs and risotto are—"

"They're fine." Eloise told Dipper. "I'm not a vegetarian these days, I told you when you asked yesterday. Salad, kebabs, risotto, that's fine."

" _And_ Mabel's special apple pie a la mode!" Mabel said. "I made it myself!"

Dipper explained, "She means she took it out of the freezer, thawed it, and put it in the oven."

"Also picked out the ice cream!" Mabel reminded him. "I put the pie in the oven, and I took it out when it was done; therefore, I cooked it. Hey, come out on the deck and look at our yard!"

The two girls went out, Tripper dancing attendance on them, as Dipper and Wendy set the table. "Last day of the month," Wendy observed. "We made it!"

"One down, two and a half to go," Dipper agreed.

"And we got the classes pretty well handled—even Mabel's holding a high B average, with all the time she spends on that play."

"And the house hasn't fallen apart—we are such a responsible married couple!"

Wendy grabbed his shirt front. "Kiss me, you fool!"

"Break it up, you two!" Mabel said as she and Eloise came back inside. "Oh, Tripper will be back in as soon as he finishes his yard patrol. We don't feed him at the table, Eloise. He'll tell you different, but don't believe him!"

They settled in for lunch. Mabel had a surprise for Eloise. She didn't even ask, but popped a can of Pitt Cola and poured it foaming over the ice in her glass. "This is a taste sensation. Pitt Cola! A product of Central Oregon! You'll love it if you make it through the third swallow. Oh, watch out for the peach pit—they put one in every can."

Wendy had splurged for a very good cut of steak. The kebabs were lunch sized—six-inch skewers, two each—and to accompany them, Dipper had grilled some new potatoes, peppers, mushrooms, and plum tomatoes. The garden salad and the beef-flavored risotto were good side dishes, and Eloise loved the meal and even liked the peachy taste of Pitt Cola. They wound up with warm apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream and demitasses of coffee.

They wouldn't let her help with the clean-up, but Mabel stayed as long as she could, then took off for rehearsal. "Want to do a walk-through?" Dipper asked Eloise, and she enthusiastically agreed. Mabel had left her bedroom door open, so they peeked in. Mabel had left it tidy, but the puppet Willow perched on her pillow. "That looks just like you!" Eloise said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," Wendy said. "Mabes used me as a model and made it for her audition—the play is about puppets—"

" _Avenue Q_ ," Eloise said, laughing. "I've already heard a lot about it from Mabel. I haven't ever seen the show, but a friend of mine had the original-cast CD and I've heard the songs. It's sort of adult-oriented."

"Oh, yeah," Dipper said. "I'm kind of anxious about how our parents are going to react to it."

"They're coming to see it?"

"Yes, they're planning on seeing it the Friday night before Thanksgiving. We're all going up to Gravity Falls for Thanksgiving week. Our great-aunts and grunkles are gonna drive in and see the play that same evening, and then on Saturday morning they'll all driving up to the Falls."

By then they'd walked over to the other side of the house to look at the master bedroom and the nursery that Wendy and Dipper had repurposed into a small library and study room/office. "Mabel's boyfriend's coming in to see the play the next day, Saturday," Dipper said.

"Oh, that's a great bed!" Eloise blurted. "Uh—it looks—very, uh, comfortable!"

"Lots of room to roam," Wendy teased, shooting a secret wink at Dipper.

Perhaps to cover her mild embarrassment Eloise asked, "Is your family staying over with you?"

"No, they and our uncles and aunts have rooms at a motel. Unfortunately, we don't have the room," Dipper said. "We might be able to re-do the basement so we could have a comfortable guest room down there, but we'll have to wait until we have some time to work on it."

They went downstairs and Wendy pointed out the space they could possibly turn into a guest room—it would work, there was a half bath down there, and room enough to add a shower stall—and then they went into the back yard and passed some time playing chase-the-ball with Tripper. "This reminds me of home," Eloise said. "Our house is an old farmhouse, and there's lots of open spaces around. What's this?"

"Gonna be a bridge," Wendy said, glancing down at the spread of lumber on the lawn. "Those are the supports, these will be the deck and the steps up and down, and we'll add some side rails. There's a creek out back, and one spot right at the edge of the property is a good place for a crossing. We still have to haul everything out there, couple of pieces at a time—it's heavy—prepare the site, and assemble it all."

"Come on," Dipper said, leading the way to the small back gate past the nut grove. "We'll show it to you."

Eloise liked the creek—"It's so private and pretty!" and then she asked, "You guys own all this?"

"Well, no," Dipper said. "Our great-uncles Stanley and Stanford bought the land and the house. They're letting us live here while we're in college and only charging us for the insurance and the utilities. After we graduate and move out, they plan to sell it for a profit."

Later they sat in the living area and played a few video games while they chatted. "Chased any ghosts lately?" Eloise asked Dipper.

"Not in the last month," he said. "In fact, before we moved in here, Grunkle Ford cleared the house."

"Did what?"

"Scanned it for paranormal entities or forces. It's clean. Life here's been pretty calm and peaceful."

"Lots different from my home town," Wendy said. "Gravity Falls is like a magnet for ghosts and monsters. Can't take a step there without tripping over a poltergeist or a banshee or some deal."

"Miss it?" Eloise asked.

Wendy shrugged. "Well—too much excitement's worse than too much boredom. It's been nice to just have a normal life without trippin' over a Gnome or having some angry ghost haunting us."

"Eloise once had a ghost in her house," Dipper told Wendy.

"Well, in our basement," she corrected. "I never could get anyone else to see her. I kept spotting her on the stairs leading down, but she was vague—just a sort of foggy-looking glow, and sometimes you could barely make out her features. My dad and mom never got there fast enough to see her before she just faded out."

"That's frustrating," Wendy said.

"Yeah, and they didn't believe me," Eloise said. "In fact, Dipper was the first person I ever met who I thought would accept that I was telling the truth. And he did. That was at the Westminster place."

"And we ran into some ghosts there," Dipper said.

"Yeah, you told me the story. Man, Dip and I once got trapped in a condemned convenience store where the owners were the ghosts of the people who used to run it."

Dipper smiled and took her hand. — _PLEASE don't tell her about the lamby dance._

Under the pretense of scratching her cheek, Wendy made the zip-my-lip gesture without Eloise's seeming to notice. "Two convenience-store ghosts! It was wild," Wendy said. "They threatened us and our friends, but Dipper grabbed a baseball bat, guess it must've been enchanted or some deal, and he chased them away."

"The ones we saw in the Westminster House were trapped there by a spell an evil magician, a lich, had cast on them," Eloise said. "But Dipper was able to release them, and they all went on."

"Eloise and I did it together," Dipper corrected. "She's brave."

"Thanks." Eloise looked as if she were going to say something else, but then shook her head. "People just don't believe in ghosts. Unless—" she tailed off.

"What?" Dipper asked. "You can tell us."

"Well—unless they see one, I mean. There's, um—OK, there's a ghost in the attic of my dorm."

"What's it like?" Wendy asked. "Have you seen it?"

"No, I—all right, three times now I think it's been up there. I don't know anyone who actually saw anything. It's mostly just sounds—footsteps, when there's not supposed to be anybody walking up there, ever, and twice I heard scraping sounds, like a trunk or something is being dragged over the floor, and just one time, I've heard sort of soft moaning."

Dipper asked, "Male or female?"

"Just—I can't tell. Soft sound, like aahaaahahh," she said, nearly whispering the noise.

"Want us to come over and check it out?" Dipper asked.

"Well, that's difficult, girls' dorm, you know."

"Wendy can take my anomaly detector up and do a sweep of the attic. Couple of readings might tell us what type's up there. That would give us a sense of what we'd need to do to exorcise it."

"Would you mind?" Eloise asked Wendy.

"No, I'll be glad to do it."

"But we'll have to sneak up," Eloise warned. "On the top floor, there's a janitor's room. To get to the attic, you have to climb up this metal ladder that's attached to the wall. Then there's a trap door in the ceiling that opens into the attic. The janitor's room door and the trap door are both locked."

"Then you're gonna need to ask Mabel to come along," Dipper warned Wendy. To Eloise, he explained, "Our Grunkle Stan's been uh, an escape artist, and he taught Mabel how to pick locks. She's pretty good at it, and also, I have a special key that she can use if it'll fit the locks. There's not any video surveillance up in the attic?"

"Don't think so. There's a camera in the elevator area and I think in the fire stairwells, but the janitor's room is way down at the end of the hallway and around a corner. I think if we act casual, nobody will notice."

"Where's the surveillance monitor?" Dipper asked.

"Um, there's the reception desk in the lobby, where one of the RA's is always on duty except late at night, and the monitor is sort of under the counter there. The picture rotates—there are four different cameras, one near each of the elevator bays, and the coverage constantly switches from floor to floor and back. About fifteen seconds for each camera."

"How about the stairs?" Dipper asked. "Cameras?"

"Well—I don't know for sure, but one of the older girls says that the cameras there don't come on unless a stairwell door opens, and then there's an alarm and the cameras switch on, so the picture comes up on the monitor."

"How about recording?"

"I . . . don't know," Eloise said. "I guess there's a security tape."

"Probably a DVR these days," Dipper said. "Typically, they record twenty-four-hour chunks, and the next day, they record over that unless the file is saved. See if you can find out from somebody if they keep recordings."

Wendy asked, "Are you sure what you heard is a ghost?"

"Pretty sure. I mean, I haven't seen it, but I'm sensitive to them, and I—just get that feeling, you know?"

"Eloise does have that ghost sense. I think we ought to check it out," Dipper said. "But I'll leave it to Wendy to scope things out. Then we'll decide how to investigate."

"Yeah, I'll do it," Wendy said. "We'll help if we can. I guess we both sorta miss the excitement."

"Well, we'll see about what we might be able to do—and whether we even ought to do anything," Dipper said.

"Great."

They didn't talk about the possible ghost any more that afternoon—but Dipper had to admit to himself that he was itching to break out the Journals.

A little bit of ghost hunting—what could it hurt?

* * *


	13. What Is It?

**Zero Regrets**

**Chapter 2: October**

_(October 1- 6, 2017)_

* * *

**13: What Is It?**

During the first week of October, Mabel worked at her studies and rehearsed, rehearsed, rehearsed. Everyone was back in the house Tuesday afternoon—Mabel came home first, immediately broke out the math book and sprawled on the couch, tongue lodged in the corner of her mouth, pencil moving furiously as she worked out equations, muttering to herself "Log-x times 6 equals ¼, solve for x. Hmm."

Wendy and Dipper showed up a few minutes later, Dipper driving. They came in from the garage and said hi. Dipper asked, "What are you working on, Sis?"

"Math," she said. "It's so hard. But I'm getting it. Hey, Dipper, can I ask you something about my show?"

"Sure, I guess, but you're the actress, so you'd know more about that than I do."

"No, this is general. Wendy, you ought to hear this, too, 'cause it's kind of bothering me."

"What is it, Mabes?"

Mabel put her worksheet in her math book, turned round, leaning over the top of the couch. "Well . . . it's a role, I understand that—oh, by the way, I'm just playing Kate, because Melinda is Lucy, and she says she can't do Kate as well as I do—anyway, it's not about that. OK, here's the thing: We're doing scene runs down in the work space now, which means we work through three or four scenes that include just the actors who are in those, so Rod and Nicky sometimes are the only ones who have to be there and the rest of us can take a break—"

"Mabes," Wendy said gently, "you're just postponing. What is it?"

Taking a long breath, Mabel said, "Kate is from Brooklyn, and she's like me in a way—her first solo part in a song says 'I'm kinda pretty, and pretty damn smart,'" and that she has a gigantic heart and so on. But then she sings, 'Why don't I have a boyfriend,' and follows that with—"'Fuck!'"

"Drops the old f-bomb, does she?" Wendy asked. "And you're worried because—"

"Because Mom and Dad and Stan, Sheila, Ford, and Lorena are all gonna hear me say that on stage. It's embarrassing."

"It's not like you've never said that word in real life," Dipper said. "I remember the time when you dropped your phone in the toilet and you came out saying that over and over."

"But nobody heard me say it then!" Mabel said.

"I did. I was right there!"

"You don't count. I'll bet you never say that word yourself."

"Do I?" Dipper asked Wendy.

"Never heard you say it. I've said it a few times. But if you do get mad and say it, I'd be OK with it."

"Not gonna happen," Mabel said. "Dip never gets mad."

"Oh yes, I do!" Dipper said.

"He usually handles it without a lot of cursing," Wendy said. "Anyways, you're playing a character, you gotta follow the script."

"Just think of it like the puppet's saying it, not you," Dipper said. "I think that Mom and Dad will understand that."

"Yeah, when Mom burned her finger that one time when she was cooking, I heard her drop a few bombs," Mabel said. "But then Kate and Princeton have a nude sex scene right there on stage."

Wendy burst out laughing. "Nude?"

"Yeah, there's different puppets for each character. I've got five for Kate, and Joey has seven for Princeton—you can't change a puppet's clothes easily, so, you know, we have nude ones for that scene, and then for any scene where the character wears a different outfit, a different puppet for those. Anyway, Princeton and Kate get talked into trying Long Island iced teas, and they drink too many, and they wind up in bed and do, let me see . . . about three different positions. I don't know how Mom and Dad will react to puppet sex."

"Well," Dipper said, "you could point out that it's not _real_ puppet sex, it's only _simulated_ puppet sex."

"Yeah," Wendy agreed. "After all, the only thing a puppet has below the waist is somebody's elbow."

Mabel lightened up. "Good point! OK, I can get through it. I think Joey's getting a crush on me, though. He identifies real strongly with Princeton."

"Don't do anything to screw up your relationship with Teek!" Wendy warned.

"No chance," Mabel said. "Teek and I have the hardest time winding up our phone calls. We're really missing each other. Man, I can't wait until Christmas break. Well—gotta get my head back into algebra. _Logarithm_ is a funny word."

* * *

On Thursday morning of that week, Mabel, looking panicky, ran down to the back gate and yelled as Dipper and Wendy came back from their run—they were still having to hop onto the rock in the creek and scramble back up the opposite bank because the bridge wasn't yet finished—and they changed from a walk to a run as they heard her yell, "Help!"

"What's the matter?" Dipper asked. Tripper had come out of the gate with Mabel, but he didn't make a run for it and followed them back into the yard.

"My car won't start!" Mabel wailed. "I'm gonna be late for school if I don't leave right now!"

"Let me grab my keys and you can borrow my car," Dipper said. "Only thing, you'll have to park in the visitor lot. Don't get a ticket, OK?"

"But I have to go back and forth every day! I'll need Helen Wheels!"

"Relax," Wendy said. "I'll see if I can dope out what's the matter with her. What happens when you try to start it?"

They went up the deck stairs and into the house as Mabel said, "The engine won't catch. It goes rr-rrr-rrr-rrr, and that's all."

Dipper got his keys off the hook next to the garage door. "Here you go. Be careful, and remember about the visitor parking."

"Thanks, Brobro! Sibling hug when I get back this afternoon."

"Got your books?"

"Oh, right, gotta grab my backpack from the trunk."

Mabel did, went outside, and a moment later Dipper heard the engine start up and his car pull out of the driveway. "Wonder what happened to her car?" he asked.

Dipper and Wendy's first class on Tuesdays and Thursdays started at 9:30, so they had more flex time than Mabel did on those mornings. Before changing out of her running gear, Wendy got into Mabel's car. "Better text her," she said. "She left her keys in the ignition."

"My house key is on my ring, so she won't be locked out this afternoon," Dipper said. "But, yeah, I'll let her know. We can hang her keys up on the hook for her."

Wendy had slipped behind the driver's wheel and tried the ignition. "Oh, man!"

"What?" Dipper asked.

"Problem diagnosed. And it's nothing serious."

Dipper leaned in, looking at the instrument panel. "Don't tell me. Out of gas."

"Yep. Lucky she made it into the garage before the tank ran completely dry. She must've forgot to check the gauge."

"Well, she's been busy."

"Got any gas for the lawnmower?"

"Yeah, maybe half a gallon or a little more," Dipper said.

"That's enough to get her to the PC station. Want to run it down, gas up, and then bring it back here? We could just grab some breakfast at a drive-through on our way to campus."

"Yeah, I guess," Dipper said. "I'll put what gas we have in her tank and drive Helen Wheels to the station. You go ahead and take your shower. I'll just put on yesterday's jeans and do the fuel run."

That was the way they worked it. Dipper poured in the gas, Wendy started the car—right away, first try—and then Dipper put the five-gallon gas tank in Mabel's trunk and drove the three miles to the PacifiCo station. He filled both Helen Wheels and the lawnmower gas container, drove back, lugged the full container out and stored it, and then hurried inside. Wendy was dressed and had brewed a pot of coffee. Dipper rushed through his shower, they drank their coffee, and then they started for Western Alliance in Wendy's car.

Following their last class, Wendy and Dipper met Eloise. They were planning out their examination of the Colby Hall attic for Friday afternoon, but on Thursday they were scoping it out.

Like the other dorms on the Western Alliance campus, Colby was a four-story tan-brick building with narrow windows and a red Spanish-tile roof—Dipper said it looked more Southern California than Northern—and you entered it through a kind of anteroom with a curved desk and behind that an office for the RA—the Resident Assistant, always either a junior or a senior.

That afternoon, Raymond was on duty. Eloise knew him and introduced him to Dipper and Wendy, saying they were going to chat for a while in the main lobby. Raymond was dark-haired, dark-complexioned, and pretty blasé. He shrugged and said, "Fine."

Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel sat in the lobby at a spot where they had a view of the front desk and Raymond. Mostly he sat at the counter, doing homework or reading. Twice he accepted take-out food for residents, one pizza, one Chinese order. Another time a girl asked if he'd buzz open a stairwell door so she could put her scooter away there, and Raymond did. Dipper noticed that Raymond watched the monitor until the girl had put away the scooter, then double-checked to make sure the outer door was locked.

After an hour, Eloise and Wendy went upstairs. Dipper strolled to the reception area. Raymond looked up from his book.

"Just waiting," he said. "Wendy's going up to Eloise's room to borrow a book."

Raymond grunted.

"Homework, huh?" Dipper asked.

Raymond grunted.

"What's the course?"

"Microbial physiology," Raymond said.

"Oh, you're pre-med."

Raymond looked surprised. "Yeah, I am."

"Taken the MCAT yet?"

"Not yet. Next term. You pre-med, too?"

"Me? No, general science, and I'm a freshman. I wouldn't have the smarts for medical school. I have an uncle who's an M.D. though."

"What's his practice?"

"He's retired, I guess you'd say, but he's on the faculty of a science-based college. I think he was sort of general medicine."

"I want to go into epidemiology as a specialty."

"Tell me about that."

Long story short, they had a nice friendly chat, and when Wendy and Eloise came back down on the elevators—Wendy carrying a book, her excuse—Dipper apologized for having distracted Raymond, and he said, "Hey, man, it was time for a break. See you guys around campus."

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Mabel came back from school with a big coconut-frosted carrot cake as thanks for Wendy's miraculously repairing Helen Wheels the day before. "Looks tasty," Wendy said. "And you're looking relaxed."

"I got a night off!" Mabel said. "They're doing scenes tonight that don't include Kate, so I just have to worry about the full run-through tomorrow afternoon. But tonight—I'm unwinding! Plus, I got a 92 on the weekly algebra quiz! Woohoo!"

"Way to go, Mabel!" Wendy said. "But don't undwind yet. Remember you gotta go to our campus for like an hour this afternoon. You, me, and Eloise have to get into the attic and do that scan thing if we can. Are you up for picking a couple of locks?"

"We got the lockpick set?"

"Yes, it's in the left drawer of the garage workbench," Dipper said.

"Long as it's not a straight deadbolt, I can handle it. Can I dress like a ninja?"

"Modify it," Wendy said. "Make it look like you're a goth type or some deal."

"Goth ninja! I'm on it!"

It took her about an hour. She came out of her room in black unitard under a half-sleeved black top, black ballet flats, and her hair sprayed black as well. She'd applied heavy mascara, purple eyeshadow, and had clipped copper rings attached by tension or maybe spirit so they looked like three nostril piercings.

"Good look for you," Dipper said.

Mabel rolled her eyes and said in a draggy voice, "Whatev. Nobody understands me."

"Do I gotta ride with her?" Wendy asked.

In the same monotonous drawl, Mabel observed, "Everybody hates me."

"I got the kit," Dipper said. "Eloise is going to meet us in front of the library. Let's go."

They had chosen a time when they knew lots of people would be streaming in and out of the dorm. Dipper waited outside, sitting on a bench near the circular drive, while the three girls went inside.

Eloise spoke to four or five girls on the way up, introducing Wendy as Wendy and Mabel as Kate.

"Hi," one of them said.

"I hate my life," Mabel sighed in reply.

They rode up to the fourth floor, left the elevator niche, and hurried down to the end of the left-side hall and around the corner. "There's the janitor's door," Eloise said.

It was the only one in the dead-end bend of the hallway. "This will be easy," Mabel said, unpacking the lockpicks. "You two keep watch. When I get it open, I'll give you a crow call."

"We don't need—" Eloise said.

"Just make it a soft one," Wendy advised.

They hardly had time to take up their post before Mabel said, "Ca-caw!"

She held the door for them. "Props to you, Kate," Wendy said.

"The college should be ashamed to use such locks. OK, looks like a padlock for the trap door up there. Let me climb up the ladder . . . oh, yeah, this is nothing."

Hooking her left arm around the top rung of the ladder, Mabel clutched the body of the lock, inserted a thin rake, and—like magic—the lock popped open. "Cheap," Mabel observed.

She came down, Wendy went up, pushed the trap door open, and hoisted herself up into the attic. "Like an oven up here! Eloise, hand up the scanner. Higher. Got it. You coming up?"

"I should be there," Eloise said. "Just to get a sense of things."

"OK, but we're gonna hang here beside the hatch, 'cause if we move around, people in the rooms are gonna hear us walking."

Wendy and Dipper had practiced with the scanner, and Eloise and she stood in the cavernous space—it was essentially a building-long, low-ceilinged room, the floor made of heavy plywood covered with grit and dust. Eloise shone a cone of dust-speckled light down the length of the room. It didn't make it more than a quarter of the distance before fading out. Nothing moved in the darkness.

"Anything?" Wendy whispered.

Eloise took regular breaths and stood as if listening for some sound most people could not hear. "Can't tell. A sort of scary vibe, but—no sense of personality. Something's definitely off, though."

"Yeah, even I can sort of feel that." Wendy set the scanner to record the results. Then she did thirty-second scans on five different bandwidths. No alarms buzzed or beeped, no lights blinked.

"Let me do this last general scan for paranormal energies," she said. "Takes longer." She rubbed a forearm over her brow. "Man, I'm sweating! Hang on . . . OK, good to go. Let's get out of here."

Eloise went down the ladder first. Wendy handed her the scanner, then hung on the ladder while she closed the trap door and slipped the lock through the hasp. A squeeze of her hand locked it.

"What did you find?" Mabel asked.

"Gotta let Dipper evaluate it," Wendy said. "Peek out and make sure the coast is clear."

"Nothing on the radar," Mabel reported when she cracked the door. "Come on. Door will lock behind us, like a motel room door."

Eloise first, Mabel second, and then Wendy—but just before she closed the door, Wendy hesitated because she heard something.

It sure sounded like a voice, but not like a man's or a woman's, or even a child.

Distorted, far-off, and moaning, she, he, or it, whatever it was, seemed to say, "Save me."

The eerie voice made goosebumps rise on Wendy's arms.

But the plea was nothing—nothing—compared to the short, sharp, evil laughter that followed it.

* * *


	14. Unexpected Hazard

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 6, 2017)_

* * *

**14: Unexpected Hazard**

On Friday morning, Dipper was puzzled enough to send the scanner data to his Grunkle Ford. "It doesn't seem to be anything in particular," Dipper said, "but there's something up there. I can't rule any specific being or entity out, but I can't rule anything at all in."

"I'll study the data," Ford said. "Run it through the analyzer, do comparison runs with other anomalous readings. Once I set up the computer, that shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. I've got you on speaker now. While I'm doing this, how are you, Wendy, and Mabel liking college?"

"We like it a lot," Dipper said. "But I have to admit it takes more work than I bargained for." He didn't tell Grunkle Ford everything—for example, he held back the mild scolding he had received from Dr. Patel, his calculus teacher. Once a month, Patel offered students a chance at extra credit—September's had been taking an optional test of 25 calculus problems. For each five you solved, you got an extra point on your average. Nobody could finish all 25 questions in the time allotted, but Dipper managed to turn in nineteen, all of them correct.

Dr. Patel had given him back his paper with 4—the number of extra points he had learned—circled in red, but also the brusque order _SEE ME._ When Dipper reported to Patel's office, he had said, "Mr. Pines, you are the kind of good student who always tries for extra points, even when you don't need them. Your average is never going to go above 100, so two of your extra points are just wasted."

"Am I not allowed to do the extra-point exercises?" Dipper had asked him.

"I won't say that, but be aware that you can't apply any surplus points from September to October and so forth. Personally, if you have an average of 95 or higher, I'd prefer that you let the students who are struggling contend for the extra points. But I suppose you'll continue to try for that perfect average. That's all, Mr. Pines."

"How is Mabel doing?" Ford asked.

"She's all up in the air because she got an important role in the fall show at Olmsted, but at the same time she keeps feeling a little lonely because Teek is so far away. But they talk or text every day. And Wendy's doing great in her schoolwork, only she has to keep fending off guys who want to ask her for a date. They tend to overlook her engagement and wedding rings."

"All right, the computer will begin the work. I'll call you later to tell you what we find. Now, is Wendy there?"

"Here she is." Dipper handed the phone over.

"Hi, Dr. P," she said.

"Mason has explained to me how the readings from the scanner don't seem to make sense. I'd like your personal observations. First, where is the presumed paranormal entity centered?"

"Attic of Colby Hall, a girl's dorm here on campus."

"Describe it."

"OK, it's a four-story brick building. In the center there's a lobby, and from the lobby there are two wings leading off, one to the left, one to the right. Each wing has a central hall and dorm rooms opening off the hall on the left side and the right side. Two girls to a room. Um, total of ten rooms on most of the halls, so that's forty students per floor for the second, third, and fourth floors. First floor doesn't have that many, because there are also meeting rooms, a computer lab, post office and vending areas, stuff like that. So the first floor has only twenty dorm rooms, total, and they give first priority to students with mobility issues. OK so far?"

"You're giving me a detailed picture. Continue."

"The ghost or whatever seems to be in the attic. Only the girls on the fourth floor hear it. Eloise has friends up there she visits, and she heard it three different times. The University administration sent exterminators up there, in case rats or squirrels had colonized the attic, but there's no sign of critters. The attic runs the whole length of the building—Dipper estimates about three hundred feet, and the width is about fifty feet. Some duct work and pipes run along each side, but there's kind of a central aisle clear. Dusty and hot up there."

"And you observed nothing?"

"As in saw? No, but Eloise Niedermeyer is sensitive to psychic stuff, and she says she gets a vibe up there. And she and I heard something as we were leaving—sort of a moan, sounds that could have been words but were so indistinct that it might have just been us imagining things. It was a weird sound, though."

"Could it have originated in the air ducts or the water pipes?"

"Possibly. It sounded to me like a voice, but you know."

"I do, indeed. When you don't know what to expect, there's a definite tendency to misinterpret mundane noises as something paranormal. Commendable caution. Let me complete this data run and analyze it. I'll be in touch! Oh—I'm sure Soos would want me to tell you that he and his family all miss you a lot."

"Aw," Wendy said. "Tell him I'll call this evening and talk to Little Soos and Harmony some. I've ignored them, and I shouldn't have."

"I'll let him know," Ford said. "I'll talk to you both later."

"What's wrong?" Dipper asked as he took the phone back from Wendy.

"Case of the guilts. I haven't called Soos, or even sent a postcard for the kids or anything. I mean, Mabel talks to her pigs once a week, man!"

"First month of marriage, first month of college—we've been kind of distracted."

"I'm gonna send them some photos," Wendy said. "Show them what the house is like. And on Monday, as I'm running between classes, I'll take some pictures of the campus, too. Just takes a minute or two to text, and it probably means a lot to the little kids."

* * *

Dipper's and Wendy's university had released the students for fall break on Friday, but Mabel was still in class all that afternoon—and had told them, "I'll get something at If You Knew Sushi for dinner, 'cause we're working some songs from six to eight." Dipper and Wendy had already hauled beams to the site of their bridge. Now they carried the tools out, too.

The first thing they had to do was to lay and level the two main supports. Each was a double four-by-four. They dug four short trenches, two on each side of the stream, aligning them with a pegged-down cord and a level. When that was done, they put down a base of bricks. Then on top of these, they laid the beams. Checked the levels again. Adjusted a bit.

The piers were tedious, mainly because they were going to anchor them to the midstream boulder, which meant patient drilling of pilot holes. They both donned eye protection and then took turns: Sometimes Dipper used the drill while Wendy kept up a stream of water across the work face, and when he got tired, they'd trade. The simple holes took nearly an hour and a half to drill.

Then they fastened the galvanized steel collars to the boulder with four wedge bolts each. Slid the top anchor collars over the two piers. Dipper raised the rails enough for Wendy to get them into place, and then they screwed the piers to the rails.

"Hard part's done!" Wendy announced. They had left spaces for two cross braces to be dropped in and lap-jointed. They took care of that, and so ended their work for the day. The forecast was for clear weather, so they didn't bother taking the tools all the way back to the garage—shovel, pick, prybar, hammer, and so on, they left inside the gate. Tripper came running from the house and carefully inspected the tools.

The cordless drill they did take to the garage, plugging it in for next time. Now two steps remained: paving the rails with the treads, one-by-two feet rectangles of the heavy outdoor plywood, screw holes pre-drilled and surfaces sealed and painted with two coats of heavy-duty deck paint; and last of all, attaching and bracing two hand rails, pre-assembled from pine and similarly weatherproofed. They'd lay down the treads with inch-wide gaps between for drainage, and that should do the job.

"This thing cost us an arm and a leg," Dipper said, picking up one of the treads and making sure it was dry.

"What's that you say, Stan? Begrudging a few bucks?"

"No, I'm not being Stannish. It's worth it, because I'll be glad to walk over the creek instead of clambering down and up again. It just seems that with all the manual labor we're putting in, it could have cost less."

"You get what you pay for, man. Wendy stretched. "Besides, a job like this gives you a feeling of accomplishment. Even if it makes your shoulders ache!"

"How about a hot shower and then I'll give you a nice back massage?"

"Sounds like a good deal to me!"

So they lathered each other up, dried each other off, lay on their big bed, and rubbed each other down. And other things.

"Well," Dipper murmured later, "that made up for a lot of effort on the bridge!"

"Mm," Wendy agreed. "I feel so relaxed and floaty, I could go right to sleep."

"I'm hungry, though. Let's make something easy for dinner, and then—"

The doorbell rang.

A surprised, naked Wendy looked at a surprised, naked Dipper. They both yelped "No!" at the same moment, because by telepathy they had just asked each other _Were you expecting—?_

"I'll get it," Dipper said, rolling out of bed, pulling on jeans—commando style!—and tugging a tee shirt over his head. As the doorbell rang again, he got his feet into his sneakers and trotted into the great room. "Just a second!" he yelled.

He opened the door. There stood Grunkle Ford, and next to him a woman he hadn't seen for more than a year—not since the ghostbusting he'd helped Eloise with. "Uh—come in," he said.

"Thank you, Mason," Ford said.

"I was, um, just got out of the shower," he said. "Oh, please have a seat." He expected them to sit in the living area, but they pulled out chairs at the table. "Um, Agent Hazard, isn't it?"

"Deputy Regional Director Hazard now," Ford said. "I asked her to come down with me because of those peculiar readings you sent me this morning."

Hazard, a thin, not-strictly-beautiful but fascinating woman in her twenties, raised an eyebrow and smiled as if she knew all sorts of secrets. Like maybe what Dipper had been up to that made him late in answering the door.

"Hi," Ford and Hazard looked over as Wendy came in, better dressed and considerably more kempt than Dipper, with his rumpled hair and tee shirt that he had not yet realized he'd pulled on inside-out and front-to-back. "Hey, Grunkle Ford! We didn't expect you. And—oh, yeah. I don't think we met in the flesh."

"I know who you are, though," Agent Hazard said. "Wendy. You appeared in astral form out in Minnesota. You're looking good. Marriage suits you."

"Thanks," Wendy said. She nudged Dipper, who was still standing. "Hey, man, go comb your hair and check your shirt. That one's ready for the wash."

Dipper darted out, leaving Ford to complete the introductions between the two women. When five minutes later he emerged again, having donned socks as well as shoes, brushed his hair, and put on a respectable collared polo shirt, Wendy and Hazard were talking about him.

"So the Chief made Dipper a temporary grade-2 Agent—that's a trainee—and I thought I'd have to nursemaid him. Turns out he has some good moves. Right, Slugger?"

It took Dipper a second to realize that he was Slugger.

"Well," he said with a one-shouldered shrug, "you were the one who saved our butts. Eloise and me, I mean."

"Ever considered working for Dr. Pines, Wendy?" Hazard asked. "I think I could whip you into shape in three months. You'd make a hell of an Agent."

"Me and Dip together, or no deal," Wendy said. "But thanks. And thanks for looking out for my guy back there."

"Uh—coffee, anybody?" Dipper asked.

"Yes, thank you!" Ford said. "Deputy Director Hazard?"

"No, but if you have some tea, I'd love a cup. Peppermint, maybe?"

"We've got that," Dipper said.

"I know where it is," Wendy said. They met at the cabinets, and Wendy touched Dipper's arm. _How does she know about the peppermint, Dip?_

— _I don't know how she knows about anything!_

Ford said from the table, "Where's Mabel?"

"Rehearsing," Dipper said. "She's in a play. She probably won't be back until eight-thirty tonight or maybe later. She's doing great."

"Let Deedee and I take you to dinner, then," Ford said. "After we have a little talk here."

"Deedee?" Dipper asked.

"Stands for Deputy Director," Hazard said. "The Agency frowns on our tossing around our real names."

Wendy had the tea ready. "Here you are," she said, putting the cup and saucer, a spoon, and a bowl of sugar cubes (they had to hide that from Mabel) before Hazard. She served Ford a cup of coffee and then sat down with her own cup of peppermint tea.

Dipper hadn't wanted coffee or tea. He sat down and put his hands on the table.

"You've been doing carpentry work," Hazard said coolly. "Outside. Mending fences?"

"What makes you say that?" Dipper asked.

Wendy took a sip of tea and then, looking Hazard right in the eyes, said, "She Sherlocked it, Dip. You've got a small bloody streak on the outside edge your right hand where you pulled out a splinter. Your sneakers have some fresh mud and grass stains."

"You _would_ make a good agent," Hazard said. "Nearly right. More important, I saw the graph paper on the counter there, the one with a sketch of something that looks like a fence."

"Bridge, actually," he said. "Grunkle Ford, we're putting a bridge across a narrow place in the creek on the far side of the fence."

"That's fine with me," Ford said. "Ahh, this is a darn fine cup of coffee! All right. Let me explain. I asked D.D. Hazard to fly me down so we could make a few decisions. "But first—" he looked at Hazard.

"Cleared already," she said. "No listening or surveillance traces, except for the burglar alarm, and that's code standard. We can talk."

"What is it?" Dipper asked. "Is that thing in the attic a Category 10 ghost or something?"

"Should we be scared?" Wendy asked.

"Well—put it this way," Ford says. "Analysis indicates that it's a something that's a nothing. And that scares the hell out of me!"

* * *


	15. Artificial Ghosts

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 6, 2017)_

* * *

**15: Artificial Ghosts**

When Dipper realized how serious the matter seemed to be—at least in Grunkle Ford's estimation—he suggested they eat in instead of going out to a restaurant. "We can talk here without worrying about anyone hearing us. I know we have some steaks in the fridge, and we can bake some potatoes and—um—"

"We have some fresh asparagus," Wendy said. "Mabel won't eat it, but—"

"I like asparagus," Hazard said.

"I . . . must have had it before I got lost in the Multiverse, but I don't really remember it," Stanford said. "It'll be fine."

"Great," Wendy said. "I'll put in four potatoes to bake, and we can talk about this until Dipper has to go get the grill ready for the steaks and asparagus."

"I'll help," Hazard said, rising from her chair.

Wendy grinned. "Thanks, but potatoes are pretty basic. I'll turn on the oven and scrub them, and there's not much more to it than that."

In five minutes, Wendy had foil-wrapped the potatoes and popped them into the oven. She joined the other three where they were all sitting again—they had moved to the living-room area, where the armchairs and sofa offered more comfort than the dining-room chairs. Ford went out to their rental car for his laptop. He sat in one of the armchairs facing the others, turned the computer on, and tapped away at the keyboard in his four-finger style. As Wendy sat next to him on the couch, Dipper noticed for the first time how Ford held up his pinkies while keyboarding.

"All right," Ford said. "Mason, I'll forward this URL to you. I'm afraid it's an extremely credulous site, the kind Deedee calls, um—"

"A woo site," Hazard said. She glanced at Wendy and Dipper, now holding hands on the couch. "That's a problem with our line of work. Most of the information comes from creduloids and woo-slingers. The Agency has to operate sub rosa to investigate things and occurrences that would move the average person either to scoffing disbelief or outright insanity. The best outcome is that we keep everyone safe without their even knowing we're here."

Dipper pointed out, "But in Gravity Falls, people have learned about all kinds of paranormal things, and they don't panic or anything."

Stanford said, "Quite true, Mason, but Gravity Falls is a very special case. In the mundane outside world, the average people who do believe in the paranormal—well, many of them become obsessed and for every fragment of factual information, they mingle tons of misinformation, superstition, and groundless supposition, or else they're tricksters and try to exploit fears and curiosity, like, um—"

"Like Stan," Wendy said. "Yeah, Dip and me know that well. Poor Dipper spent about a month as the dancing wolf boy."

"Ugh." Dipper shuddered. "Grunkle Stan bought a bag of dog hair from a pet groomer and glued that to me. And made me wear a pair of pants and some fake ears made from it."

"People laughing at him, tossing money at him so he'd dance," Wendy said. "That was cruel. Though I gotta admit, as a wolf boy he looked kinda ridiculous. He'd have been much cuter as, uh, oh, I dunno—a dancing lamb boy."

Dipper shot her a quick reproving glance, but said, "Yeah . . . that would have been embarrassing, too."

_Sorry, Dip! Couldn't resist. You're damn CUTE as a lamb!_

Oblivious to the meaning behind Wendy's words, or to her telepathic comment to Dipper, Stanford took up the story again: "Well, uncomfortable as that must have been, Stanley has done some good. I mean, the Mystery Shack is actually beneficial to our mission. People who visit it are having a good time. Ninety per cent of them are sure it's just good-natured hoaxing. That alone tends to dispel panic. The other ten per cent conclude that the questions are still open, and they stay out of our way. All right. We have some time, so let me—forgive me, Wendy and Mason—give you a little history lesson to explain what I fear may be going on with the attic entity."

"Should we take notes?" Wendy asked.

Stanford shook his head. "Ah, no, that won't be necessary. I'll send Mason a series of web addresses that will cover about everything I have to say."

At that moment the doggy door clacked as Tripper slipped inside—he'd been out in the back yard, sunbathing—and greeted Ford by coming over, sitting by his feet, and accepting an absent-minded, six-fingered ear scratch. Then he went to meet and greet Hazard. She held out her open palm, he sniffed it, glanced at Dipper, who nodded, and then, tail wagging genially, the pup held his head up for a chin-scratch.

"You're a member of the pack now," Wendy told Hazard. "This is Tripper, Mabel's rescue dog. He's real smart, but you can tell us any secret with him here. He won't talk."

"Good to know," Hazard said.

"Very good," Stanford said. "Mason, have you heard of the Phillip experiment? Toronto, 1972?"

Dipper thought but shook his head. "I don't remember. What was it about?"

With his laptop resting atop his thighs, Stanford leaned back a little and tented his fingers. "Briefly, the members of the Toronto Society for Psychical Research hypothesized that an array of ghostly phenomena might be the product of living human minds, not of separate paranormal entities. They created an imaginary person—someone who never really existed—named Phillip Aylesford, a British aristocrat who supposedly lived in the seventeenth century, during the Commonwealth period and Cromwell's rule."

Hazard put in, "You have to understand, Phillip was entirely fictional. They hadn't even based him on a real person. Just made up out of whole cloth."

"That's right," Ford said. "And yet the committee provided him with a convincing, though unconventional, background." He looked down at the web page. "In fact, the members concocted a melodramatic biography for him—his family arranged a marriage for him with an upper-class, but cold, unresponsive woman. Caught in an unhappy marriage, Phillip met a beautiful, hot-blooded Gypsy woman, they instantly fell in love, and secretly, Phillip took her as a mistress. After some time passed, his wife found out about her husband's infidelity and had her rival condemned and burned at the stake as a witch, and Phillip, who did not come forward to defend his lover or prevent her execution, eventually hurled himself from the battlements of his castle in his guilt and despair."

"Sad story," Wendy said.

"It is improbable," Stanford replied. "The most melodramatic kind of fiction, as I said. At any rate, the research group created a virtually book-length, detailed biography for Phillip, even commissioning an artist to paint a portrait of him in period style. Eventually, they assembled séances that gathered and tried to communicate with the ghost of the nonexistent Phillip Aylesford."

"I think I did read about this somewhere," Dipper said. "They actually received communications—even sitters who didn't know much about the made-up biography."

"Table knocks," Hazard said. "At first there was nothing, then gradually, Phillip seemed to begin to communicate. Ouija board, and then an apparent presence at the gatherings. That's how it started. The old 'Rap once for yes, twice for no' routine."

Stanford said, "Astonishingly, though, when the members of an uninformed séance questioned the supposed ghost, they got information that conformed to the fictional construct. These were people who had only minimal information and who had never read the fictional biography."

"Must be telepathy," Dipper said. "They picked up the thoughts of the committee that dreamed up Phillip's biography."

"Quite possibly," Stanford said. "We can't completely rule out trickery, though. The first thing a paranormal researcher must remember is that a skeptical approach renders the most acceptable results. However, do take a look at that first web site. You'll find some embedded video clips. Watch the important bits of them. The table raps aren't just the sound of knuckles on wood—one or more legs of the table actually will rise from the floor."

"On its own?" asked Wendy.

Stanford nodded. "To all appearances, yes. And there is at least one short clip that I cannot explain. The table—not a small one, either—levitates. The camera angle rules out the normal means of trickery—all the sitters are wearing short-sleeved shirts, all of the hands are atop the table, no one's knees are lifting, no one's toes are under any of the table legs. There clearly is no wire raising and lowering the table. Four witnesses—one of them I knew well and trusted implicitly—testify that no physical agency was raising the table."

"A paranormal effect," Hazard said, "was produced, supposedly the work of a ghost that literally did not exist—the ghost of a completely imaginary person."

"Wait, wait," Wendy said. "Is this what you think has happened at Western Alliance? Bunch of people just dreamed up a ghost?"

"Not in a deliberate way," Stanford said. "Although people have made up paranormal entities that later take on, so to speak, a life of their own, even if only as folklore. Slenderman is an example from the computer era. However, unless I'm badly mistaken, the present attic ghost is not exactly the result of deliberate creation of a fictional creature."

Hazard said, "Remember that monster in the high school you and Eloise faced?"

"Oh, yeah," Dipper said. "It was a manifestation of all the negative emotions experienced by generations of high-school students. It sort of collected around the spirits of a couple of dead people, but then swept up enough material—dust and cobwebs and stuff—to affect the physical world. And it fed on and magnified negative emotions."

"My working hypothesis," Ford said, "is that the current entity is a little like that. Similar, yet different. You've no doubt heard some of the legends of evil spirits current among young people."

"Like Bloody Mary," Wendy suggested. "You go alone int a light-proof, dark room that has a mirror. You light one little candle, a small one, and put it behind you. Then you get close to the mirror and stare at your reflection until it starts to look strange. Then you say 'Bloody Mary' three times, and a bloody ghost appears beside you."

"That story goes back to the mid-1970s," Ford said.

Hazard added, "But invoking spirits in a mirror has an ancient history. In fact, Abraham Lincoln supposedly saw a spirit in a mirror once. Though that story lacks verification."

"Back in the 1600s, the British equivalent was Bloody Bones," Ford said. "The legend is a close analogue, though."

"Dad said that Mom and he once had a problem with Bloody Mary," Dipper said.

Hazard and Stanford exchanged a glance. He said, "I did not know about that. I'll ask Alex for some details."

"Is the ghost up in the attic there because college girls go call for Bloody Mary in the women's rooms?" Wendy asked.

"Not exactly," Stanford said. "I want you two to learn whether there's a long-standing urban legend about something up in the attic—some ghost."

"Campus ghost stories are incredibly common," Hazard said. "The Doctor's Ghost in the library of the University of Virginia. The four girl ghosts at the University of Iowa, who all killed themselves because they were in love with the same boy. Agnes, the theater ghost at Brenau University. Every state has at least a dozen."

"And most of them can't be verified," Ford said. "Like Phillip, the ghosts seem to be manifestations of a fictional person's spirit. It's as if the beliefs of many generations of students coalesce into a paranormal entity—normally mindless, unfocused, incapable of doing anything more than projecting a sense of fear and maybe some sounds like footsteps or knocks. Two things about this case worry me. First, Wendy and Eloise heard something like a voice."

"Yeah, but it wasn't clear at all. I couldn't swear that it said anything specific, or even that it was a human voice. But the laugh—" she shivered a little. "It sounded evil. And it was definitely a laugh, even if there wasn't anybody up there to be laughing."

"What's the second thing?" Dipper asked.

"This entity," Hazard said, "has been known to kill people."

Wendy had set a timer to remind Dipper to go start the grill for the steaks and asparagus. It went off.

The sound startled everyone. Even Tripper yipped.

* * *


	16. What Do We Know?

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 6-7, 2017)_

* * *

**16: What Do We Know?**

Over their meal—"My word, this is a good steak!" Stanford observed—Dipper and Wendy learned a little more about Stanford and Hazard's proposed means of attack. "The major information we need," Stanford said, "is some of the history of the attic entity. I've tracked down mentions of four different co-eds—is that the proper word these days, co-eds? My vocabulary for such things remains somewhat out of date, and I've been corrected once or twice at the Institute."

"We know what it means," Wendy said. "And yeah, it's kinda sexist these days. For general purposes, you might say 'women students' or 'female students.' Or if they're all from Colby, maybe just 'Dorm residents.'"

"They all were from Colby, actually," Stanford said. "I'll get the information to you. The first victim passed away in the spring of 1952. The dormitory was new then—it opened in the previous fall—with no history of any suspicious activity. Newspaper archives don't help much. There's a tendency to keep anything that might be thought to be distressing to the family out of the news accounts. However, we do know that she was a victim of suicide and that in the week or so before she died, the dorm residents insisted they heard strange sounds close to her room. The attic was checked for vermin, with no results. The sounds were like scratching, the students said. Those who heard them had disturbing dreams."

With a frown of concentration, Wendy asked, "And she committed suicide because of scratching? There's got to be more to it than that. Don't you have any solid information?"

"Yes, a little. Her mother and father have long since passed away, but she had a sister a few years younger than she was who's still alive. She's in an assisted-living facility in Glenn County, California. She's over eighty, and I don't know how clearly she might remember the circumstances. I would like to interview her. As far as I can ascertain without conferring with her, she's sound of mind and memory."

"I want to travel over to Willows and speak to her," Hazard said. "The people the Chief talked to said that Mrs. Bordein—that's her name, maiden name Wynant—isn't very open with men. Wendy, will you go with me tomorrow?"

"Kind of a long drive, isn't it?" Wendy asked.

"We'll fly in a chopper," Hazard said.

"I'll go!" Wendy said. "I've always wanted to fly in a helicopter!"

"You did that one time," Dipper reminded her.

"Doesn't count. I was unconscious!"

"It'll be a two-hour ride there and then two hours back," Hazard advised. "We'll plan to depart from the Agency helipad tomorrow at 0900. That will put us into the Willows-Glenn County airport by 1100. An unmarked car will be at our disposal, and it's a short drive to Cedars Center Assisted Living. We should be able to depart from Willows by 1300, back here by 1500."

"That," Ford explained helpfully, "is military time."

Wendy grinned at Hazard. "Nine AM, landing at eleven, out of Glenn County by one PM, back here by three. Pretty close?"

"Pretty close," Hazard agreed.

"Well, our hope," Ford said, "is that the woman, Mrs. Myrtle Bordein, will have some recollection of her sister's passing. The victim's name—her sister—was Opal Wynant. She was nineteen at the time of her suicide. Myrtle would have been sixteen, still in high school."

"Get to the others, Chief," Hazard suggested.

"Yes, of course. Let's see . . . we may be able to find out more about the last three. One hanged herself in the spring of 1977, a second died of a deliberate overdose in the fall of 1997, and the most recent one was a girl who apparently leaped off a bridge to her death in January 2009."

"They're getting closer together," Dipper said.

"That's one mark of a developing unbodied malevolence," Hazard said. "Snowball effect. Between the first and second, 25 years. Between the second and third, twenty years. Third and fourth, twelve years. And now it's been close to nine years since that one."

"So . . . one's due?" Wendy asked.

"Unpredictable," Stanford said.

"Getting closer, anyway," Hazard said.

"So . . . we need to try to bust this ghost to save a life?" Dipper asked.

"There's no ghost to, as you say, bust, Mason," Stanford said. "The readings Wendy and Mabel took are strong evidence against that. This is an unformed, but coalescing malignancy. It's probable that it can influence only some very susceptible minds."

Hazard said, "But it drives them to suicide."

"You're acting like the suicides couldn't be coincidence," Dipper said. "So what connects them?"

"Let me say a word more first. Colby Residence Hall was renovated in 1974-75. It reopened for occupation in the fall term of 1975. The student who was the next victim was named Catherine—with a C—Dearwood. She entered Western Alliance as a freshman in fall of 1975. The following fall, as a sophomore, she moved from the freshman dorm to Colby Hall. Then the following May, after another period of students hearing odd noises, this time with suggestions of squeaks and perhaps shrieks, Catherine was discovered in the communal bathroom one morning in May. She had hanged herself."

"We have a little more background on her," Hazard offered. "I'm assembling a dossier. You two will get a copy."

"You may, at your discretion, share it with Eloise Niedermeyer," Ford said.

Hazard resumed: "The victim in 1997 was Deana Torrence, nineteen. The same general background—inexplicable sounds from the attic, girls having terrifying nightmares, vague vocalizations, this time with distinct screams and occasional evil laughter. Deana begged her parents to let her leave school, but they thought she was just tired from the term's work and wouldn't let her drop out. Her roommate went home for the last weekend in October. When she returned on Monday morning, October 27, she found Deana dead in her bed. It was an overdose of zopiclone, a sleeping pill. No one seems to know where she got the pills—she had no prescription, but she intended to take the overdose. She had left a suicide note."

"And as in the other cases, Stanford said, "the mysterious noises diminished after her death. All right, the final one in the series occurred nearly nine years ago. Her name was Ginevra Norton. Running up to the Christmas break in 2008, the same pattern repeated—noises, voices that never were distinct enough to understand, inhuman shrieks and moans, agonizing nightmares. Once more the University inspected the attic, suspecting that some animals had nested there. Once more no trace of infestation was found Of all the girls who heard the noises, Ginevra was the most strongly affected. She seemed relieved to go home to Sacramento. Her parents report that Ginny, as they called her, was oddly withdrawn and hardly stirred from her room."

"Didn't they try to find out why?" Wendy asked.

Ford shrugged. "She'd been through a break-up with her young man just before the fall term ended. They thought she was getting over that. Her friends at the University, though, said she was living in a state of constant dread and fear. At any rate, the spring term at WAU had been scheduled to commence on Monday, January 5, 2009. The previous day, Sunday, Ginny packed her car and drove away, her parents thought, for Crescent City. That evening, the police notified them that Ginny had left her car on the shoulder of Forresthill Road, near Auburn—not on her route back to college."

Hazard added, "Three different motorists had noticed her sitting in her car. None of them stopped to ask if she needed help. There was nothing wrong with the car-she hadn't broken down. But at some point, she left her car."

"They think she might have waited until there was no traffic," Ford said heavily. "Then she ran out onto Forresthill Bridge until she was near the center—and she climbed the guard rail and leaped."

Hazard said, "Forresthill Bridge has the longest drop of any bridge in California, more than seven hundred feed straight down near the center of the span. Ginny plunged at least three hundred feet down into the American River gorge."

Ford sighed. "She had obviously taken her own life. She'd been alone in her automobile on the occasions when passers-by noticed her. There were no signs that she'd been assaulted. She had kicked off her shoes on the pedestrian walkway on the bridge. No one actually saw her leap, but the last person who'd seen her alive in her car estimated the time of the sighting as about four o'clock. At four-fifteen, another motorist saw her car still off on the shoulder of the road, with the driver's side door open. There have been other suicides by jumping there, and the driver called the California Highway Patrol to report the car. They checked, saw the shoes on the bridge, and spotted Ginny far below on the ground. It took about three hours to recover the body. The parents identified her that evening."

"So," Wendy said. "Four girls offed themselves after this ghost thing showed up. Did it stop after each death?"

"Went completely away," Stanford said. "Until the next time—at increasingly short intervals."

"There has to be more," Dipper said. "Let me guess. All the girls who died lived on the top floor of the dorm, right? I have a weird feeling, Grunkle Stan—that they all lived in the same room."

For a few moments no one moved, no one spoke.

Hazard, her dark eyes on Dipper's, her gaze intrigued and appraising, said quietly, "Agent Second Class Pines, if the Agency gave out gold stars, you just earned one. Right, Chief?"

"Each one of the suicides," Ford said heavily, "was a resident of room 439."

Wendy shot Dipper a thought: _That's the one right next to the janitor's room and the ladder up to the attic._

* * *


	17. Some Questions, Some Answers

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 7, 2017)_

* * *

**17: Some Questions, Some Answers**

Ford accompanied Mabel and Wendy to the Western Alliance campus. It took them a quarter-hour of casually asking the women students coming into and out of Colby Residence Hall before they hit a streak of luck: One student knew the name of a fourth-floor resident, Tammi Weissley. Wendy went in, asked at the desk for Tammi's room number—416, down the hall and on the opposite side from 439.

She used the house phone and got Aleisha Kincaid, Tammi's roommate. In turn, Aleisha knew the names of the students in Room 439. She wrote the names down in a pocket-sized pad— _Here I am in full Dipper mode—_ thanked Aleisha, and then went back to where Ford and Mabel waited. Sunset was dusking into evening, but it was still a warm one.

Wendy said, "Brandi Yarrow and Allie Therrol. Take it from here, Mabes."

"Got it," Mabel said. She had returned from the afternoon's run-through and rehearsal to a dinner that Dipper had saved for her—half his steak, still a good serving, a baked potato, and, in place of the asparagus, some microwaved mixed vegetables—and after she had gobbled that, she and the other two had taken off for the campus, while Dipper and Hazard stayed at the house.

Mabel walked into the dorm and stopped at the desk. A cute guy asked, "Can I help you?"

"Why, sure thing, Sugah," she said in what she thought was a Southern accent—she'd been practicing one, just in case Teek might come home with a preference for Georgia belles—"Ah jus' need to use the li'l ole house phone over theyah to call a friend of mine."

"Go ahead," he said. "What's the room number?"

"Fo' thirty-nine, Ah do believe."

"OK, easy. The number's just the building number plus the room number. Dial 8439."

You are just as sweet as honeh. Thank you so very much."

"You're welcome. Where are you from?"

"Why, from the Peach State, darlin'. Ah'm from li'l ole Atlanta, Jawja. Mah name is Katie Monsser."

"OK, Katie. My name's Wayne."

"I sho' will remembah that!"

Mabel walked over to the bank of phones with a little exaggerated hip-sway. _Hah! A little more of this and I could play Lucy the Slut!_

She dialed the number, and after two rings, a low alto voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi," Mabel said. "Listen, this is going to sound crazy. Is this Brandi or Allie?"

A long pause. Then: "Brandi. Allie—uh. She's not in the room much. She's not feeling great."

"Noises? Voices?"

A longer pause. "What do you know about all that?"

"Enough to help. Listen, my uncle knows about things like this. He's an investigator. He won't laugh at you. And I won't either. Will you come down and talk to us for a few minutes?"

The longest pause of all. Then a whispered, "You can really help Allie?"

"We sure as heck will try. Listen, I'm in the lobby. When you step off the elevator, look for a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, a blue headband, a dark blue sweater with an appliqué that looks like an orange sunburst and a white Q inside it. Act like we know each other and call me Kate—not my real name, but I'll explain that."

"I'll be right down."

Mabel hung up and then passed the reception desk with a finger-wiggling wave and broad smile at Wayne. She stood near the door. A couple of minutes later, one of the two elevators opened and an African American girl about her age stepped out, looking around. She was petite, a head shorter than Mabel, with luxuriant hair, and she wore a check-patterned jacket over a white blouse and baggy pants that matched the jacket. She saw Mabel and walked quickly over with a tense smile.

Mabel said, loudly enough for Wayne to hear, "Brandi! Great to see you again!" She hugged the other girl and with an arm around her shoulders, led her out.

Ford and Wendy had been waiting on the bench. They might have been a father and daughter. Mabel took Brandi over and made the introductions: "Brandi, this is Wendy Corduroy-Pines. She's my sister-in-law. This is my Grunkle Stanford Pines—that means great-uncle, get it?—he's got a doctorate in paranormal studies. My name's really Mabel Pines. And this is Brandi Yarrow, and I think her roommate Allie is the one the ghost is concentrating on. Listen, Brandi, will you come with us to our house? It's only fifteen minutes away, but if you're uneasy about that, we'll talk anywhere you want."

Brandi was weeping. "People are treating us like freaks," she said. "It's like they think we're causing the damn noises. I'll go with you if you can help. I have to be back by nine-thirty, though."

"Then let's go," Ford said. "I'm sorry for your troubles. I can only promise that we'll do our best to help you, and I'll tell you that we have faced, and overcome, a great many supernatural threats before this."

They walked to the visitor's lot, where Ford had parked the Agency car—a full-sized model, a discreet charcoal-gray Dodge Charger. Mabel and Brandi got in the back seat, Wendy drove, and Ford rode shotgun. Brandi collected herself as they made the short drive. Mabel chattered: "Our house is kinda in the country, but it's real quiet. You'll love my dog—his name's Tripper, and he's just a mutt, but he's the smartest mutt in the whole world! My brother is Dipper—don't get them mixed up!—and he's kinda a nerd—"

"Hey, hey!" Wendy said from the driver's seat. "You're talking about the man I love!"

"OK, OK," Mabel said. "He's a _great_ nerd! He's smart and he stood up against ghosts and monsters, and yes, those things are real. And he's got enough good sense to marry somebody like Wendy, who's freaking awesome. Dipper's a nickname, but everybody who knows him well calls him that, so he'll want you to call him that, too. Grunkle Ford is really Dr. Stanford F. Pines. He's the president of a special university dedicated to the study of anomalous sciences. And he's got twelve fingers!"

"It's a genetic anomaly," Stanford said. "And it doesn't make me any stronger than anyone else. It only makes typing harder!"

They arrived at the house. Tripper, at first ecstatic to meet a new friend, quickly sensed the mood and settled down, stretched out at Mabel's feet, chin resting on paws, his forehead wrinkled as though in concern. Deedee, as Wendy called Hazard, nodded and sat a little apart, concentrating, but she didn't speak beyond a murmured hello in the beginning.

"Now," Ford said as they all settled down, "we'll help you any way you can. Tell us your story, and we'll ask questions. We're your friends."

"My roommate—" Brandi said, and then she gulped—"I think she may be losing her mind." She started to shake. Stanford soothed her, asked the questions, and Wendy and Dipper occasionally put in an observation or a request for more detail. Mabel was Brandi's cheerleader, sitting beside her on the sofa, patting her shoulder, offering her a box of tissues or a glass of lemonade, reassuring her.

With halts and sobs, little by little, the story came out. They recorded it all on a pocket voice recorder, and that evening before he turned in—past midnight—Dipper transposed it all, putting the narrative together by compiling Brandi's responses to Ford's questions.

* * *

From Dipper Pines's Report on the Testimony of Brandi Yarrow: _I liked Allie from the moment I saw her. She liked me. We're both fans of the same music and like the same TV shows and movies and all that. Each of us has an older brother, and we're both majoring in education. We've got one class that we're taking together. Everything was great for the first two weeks._

 _I mean, yeah, I'm black and she's white, but we're more like sisters than friends, in a lot of ways. I love her to death. It was all perfect for the first two weeks. Then, a few days ago_ [NOTE: SEPTEMBER 22 OR 23—DIPPER PINES] _we first heard the scratching sounds._

_It was hard to tell where they came from—from the ceiling or from the walls. It was like they were just there. Sometimes we thought it was coming from under her bed, sometimes from overhead. We even emptied out the closets. We joked that mice must have come into the attic._

_A girl from down the hall_ [NAME EDITED FOR PRIVACY] _told us that the room was haunted. Nobody else had heard anything like that, but she said that every year an angry ghost took the life of one of the girls who lived in 439._ [NOTE: NOT TRUE]

_The sounds got louder. We heard heavy footsteps, like a muscular guy was stomping around. We heard—muttering. Like a voice, but we couldn't tell if it was a male or a female voice, and we couldn't make out any words. Then the laughing started. It came late at night. We complained. The University sent somebody to inspect. There wasn't anything in the attic and no evidence of mice or rats or anything like that in the walls._

_Worse than that, when the adults—you know what I mean, the people from maintenance—were around, nothing happened. No noises. One weekend, the girl from down the hall and two others came to our room to use a Ouija board and Tarot cards to see if any spirits would speak to them._ [NOTE: EVENING OF SEPT 30]

 _That made it worse. We started to hear the noises when two of the girls were doing the Ouija board thing. They weren't getting any answers. The little slidey thing_ [NOTE: PLANCHETTE] _seemed to be moving, but it didn't spell anything out. Then Allie took one of the girls' places and put her fingers on the [planchette]. Then it did spell out a word: HATE. And then it slipped out from under their fingers and flew through the air. It smashed into the wall, and then it flew back and smashed against the door, and then it embedded itself in a ceiling tile._

_I begged them to stop but [THE GIRL FROM DOWN THE HALL] did a Tarot reading for Allie. She laid down all the cards in a pattern on the floor. But before [THE GIRL] could start explaining, the whole deck flew up in the air, the ones laid out and the rest of the pack. They were like a whirlwind. And some stuck to the wall over Allie's bed._

[NOTE: ALLIE DID NOT KNOW TAROT CARDS AND COULD NOT REMEMBER WHAT THEY WERE. S. PINES SHOWED HER IMAGES AND QUESTIONED HER. THE SIX CARDS WERE, IN ORDER, LEFT TO RIGHT: THE RUINED TOWER. TEN OF SWORDS, REVERSED. THREE OF SWORDS. FIVE OF PENTACLES. DEVIL. DEATH]

_The other girls all ran out of the room, screaming. Allie was shaking and scared. I went over to the wall and peeled the damn cards off. When I peeled the death card off, it came alive. I mean it started to move in my fingers. I couldn't keep my grip on it. It flew out of my hand and went spinning through the air. And it clipped the side of Allie's neck._

_It cut her. She bled._

[SUMMARY OF THE REST BY DIPPER PINES:] Brandi says that Allie wasn't right after that night. She has nightmares and can't sleep. She tried to get a room transfer, but there are no rooms available. She's missed several classes. She won't stay in the dorm—she goes and sits in the Student Center or library. She has slept in her car. Nothing Brandi suggested helps her. The sounds get worse and worse. Brandi is afraid that Allie may run away or hurt herself.

Grunkle Ford gave her an amulet that he asked her to persuade Allie to wear. It may provide some comfort and protection. When Brandi sees Allie, he wants her to set up a time when he and maybe Mabel can talk to her. He also gave Brandi a locket and asked her to wear it all the time, even when she's in bed. She agreed. He told me that it contains a wisp of unicorn hair and has a protective spell engraved on it in a code.

I hope the amulets help.

_Personal note: Grunkle Ford, I feel so sorry for these girls. We have to end this and keep them safe._

* * *

When the questioning was over, Wendy drove Brandi back to campus. Ford said goodnight and drove to a motel to stay for the night. Hazard said she was going to sleep over. Mabel offered to let Hazard sleep in her bed, but Hazard said she'd make do with the sofa. She had a small backpack with her necessities in it. Dipper put blankets and a spare pillow on the couch while Hazard showered and changed to—pajamas. Black pajamas.

Mabel said, "You look like a sexy Ninja! All you need is a black belt!"

"Got one, don't wear it," Hazard said. "Listen, you two, and tell Wendy this when she gets back: we've walked up to a hornet nest and poked it with a stick. We've backed off. But hornets are mean and determined and they'll go a long way for revenge. If anything happens tonight, you are going to follow my instructions. No questions. No suggestions. No objections. You do what I tell you to do."

"Dipper?" Mabel asked, unsteadily.

"I trust her," Dipper said. "Agreed."

"Then I do, too," Mabel said. "I gotta survive. They show couldn't go on without me."

"We'll do our best," Hazard said, "to keep you alive until then."

* * *


	18. In Search of Memories

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 8, 2017)_

* * *

**18: In Search of Memories**

When they all woke up on Sunday morning, the aroma of breakfast was in the air. They got up to find Deedee Hazard, dressed in a crisp khaki pantsuit and wearing an incongruous apron, in the kitchen. "Sit down," she said. "Coffee's ready. Breakfast in two minutes. The dog's been fed."

Tripper, sitting at her feet, gave her an adoring look.

"You didn't have to do this," Wendy said.

Hazard shrugged. "I'd hate to tell you how long it's been since I cooked a meal. It's something I miss."

Mabel took Tripper out briefly. She came back in and said, "He's running around doing his border patrol. Thanks—uh, can I call you Deedee?"

"If you want to call me by my right name, it's Amy," Hazard said. "But if you spread that, I'll have to kill you."

"Ah-ha!" Mabel laughed, but uncertainly.

"Here we go. Wendy, do you get airsick?"

"Never have yet," Wendy said.

"Then eat as much as you want."

"This looks interesting!" Mabel said. "What is it?"

"It's an Amish breakfast," Hazard said. "Eggs, chopped bacon, shredded potatoes, cottage cheese, cheddar cheese, onion, parsley, and thyme. And here's sourdough toast."

The dish was surprisingly tasty. They had just started when Dipper heard a car. He jumped up and opened the front door in time to prevent Stanford Pines from ringing the doorbell. "Come in," he said. "Agent Hazard made a great breakfast for us."

"Indeed?" Stanford lowered his voice. "She's no longer an agent, Mason. She's a Deputy Director."

"She said we could call her—uh, by another name," Dipper said. "Anyway, come on in. Have you had breakfast?"

"No. The motel doesn't provide oranges."

"Then eat with us."

Wendy poured his coffee, and Mabel gave him a slice of toast and one of the casserole. "It's fantastic!" she said. "Oh, the bacon's turkey, by the way."

"It is delicious," Ford agreed after one taste.

"Thanks, Chief," Hazard said. "What's the agenda?"

"I have a contact who's one of the administrators of Western Alliance University," Stanford said. "She's agreed to come in to the University and meet me in her office at nine. I think our first order of business is to do as much as we can to insure the safety of Miss Allie Therrol and her roommate, Miss Yarrow. Surely there must be someplace where they can be rehoused. I also want to go into the history of the dormitory room. I'm wondering why no red flags have been raised concerning Room 439."

"I'll go with you," Dipper volunteered.

"No, thank you, Mason, but that's contraindicated. You're a fellow student of the girls, and privacy concerns might prevent Dr. Canova from discussing the matter with full candor."

"OK," Dipper said.

"Will you take the Company car?" Hazard asked.

"Why don't you drive it?" Ford said. "I'm sure I can borrow Mason's car."

"That's fine," Dipper said.

"Then if you and your sister don't mind cleaning up, Wendy and I should be on our way to Willows."

"Dress code?" Wendy asked.

Hazard shrugged. "We're gonna be researching the history of Mrs. Bordein's family. We're distant relatives. Wear what you'd wear to class."

"Ten minutes," Wendy said. When she came out from the bedroom, she wore dark green slacks and a lighter green half-sleeved sweater. She'd put on the minimal makeup she normally did for class—light pink lipstick, a touch of blush, a slight application of mascara.

Dipper went to her, hugged her, and kissed her. "Good luck," he said. "And you be careful."

"I think I'm in good hands," she told him, while thinking, _I love you, Dipper._

— _I love you so much it hurts, Wen. Call me when you get there so I'll know you're safe._

"OK," Wendy said. "Let's go."

Dipper walked them to the door. He saw Hazard stow her backpack in the trunk of the unmarked car, and he waved goodbye to them.

Then he went back inside. Ford and Mabel stood at the sink, Ford with his sleeves rolled up, exposing some faded tattoos—souvenirs of his journey through the Multiverse, though he didn't much like to talk about them—and his big hands under sudsy water, washing dishes. Mabel was drying.

Dipper tidied the table, wiping crumbs, as Tripper, with some canine ESP, came back inside and did a quick policing of any small fragments that fell on the floor.

Afterward, Mabel called Tammi, spoke to her for a few minutes, and then hung up. "Allie didn't come in last night. Tammi found her a few minutes ago, crammed in the back seat of her car. That's where she spent the night. Tammi didn't hear any noises today, but she thinks Allie is on the verge of collapse. I think we need to get her here. Let her take a shower, maybe try to nap a little."

"See if she'll agree to that," Ford said. "I think that would be an excellent idea."

"Wish Wendy was still here," Dipper said. "She can calm people down better than anybody I know."

Mabel put away the last dish. "Grunkle Ford, let me go in with you. I can maybe meet Allie and Tammi somewhere on campus. You get Dr. what's-her-name to get Tammi and Allie to come here to the house. We'll work it out. Dip and Wen can have my room, I'll sleep on the couch, and Tammi and Allie can use their room. We're out of school tomorrow and Tuesday anyhow 'cause of Columbus Day and fall break—but it's really like a hairline fracture—so they won't have classes. Only thing, I got rehearsal on Tuesday night."

"They won't be alone with me, though," Dipper said. "Wendy will be back."

"Yeah, like anybody would be afraid of you," Mabel teased.

Stanford glanced at his watch. "Mabel, call Miss Yarrow again. I'd suggest meeting them perhaps outside the Student Center, at the plaza tables. That's not very far from the Administration building, and I'll call you if Dr. Canova and I can reach an agreement."

"I guess I'll hold down the fort," Dipper said reluctantly.

"They also serve who only stand and wait," Ford said gently. "And I fear we'll face a serious test before long. Make your call, Mabel. We need to leave soon."

* * *

"This is it?" Wendy asked. Hazard had driven them to the airport on the southwest edge of town. The helicopter, rounded cabin, long tail boom, with twin vertical stabilizers above the rear rotor, looked scratched and chipped, its mustard-yellow paint somewhat faded. On the body behind the cabin was a logo of a flying hawk above a banner: SKYVIEW AERIAL SURVEYS.

"This is it," Hazard said. "The Professor—he's retired now, but—"

"He used to have Stanford's job," Wendy said. "Yeah, I met him when he was investigating something that involved me and Dipper."

"Didn't know that. Anyway, the Professor got tired of our black helicopters being the center of all sorts of urban legends. So they're all yellow now, and all have fictitious logos."

The chopper looked bigger inside than she expected. "What is this?" she asked as Hazard started her checklist.

"Boeing A/MH-6M. Name of the model's Little Bird. Give me a few minutes to finish this. It's important."

Wendy sat quietly while Hazard went through her preflight routine. "OK," she said. "Here, take the headset. It's gonna get loud. This is the only way we'll be able to talk to each other without screaming."

Wendy donned the earmuff-style headset. A small microphone on a curved boom was just in front of her lips. Hazard had a similar one. She switched them on and then Wendy heard her voice through the headset: "You reading me?"

"Gotcha," Wendy said. "Can you hear me?"

"Fine. Now, there's no powder room aboard. Have you gone to the bathroom?"

"Yeah, took care of that."

"Good. It's just about a 275-mile trip. Ordinarily that'd stretch our range, but this is different from the military version of the chopper. The Agency took out some of the passenger space—we could haul four, as opposed to six in the military copter—and added some fuel capacity. We have a range of 350 miles at cruising speed, 5000 feet altitude, so we've got a safety margin. We'll get clearance for take-off in a few minutes. I'm gonna go a little faster than factory cruising speed—about 140 knots instead of 135—so our ETA in Willows will be in about an hour and fifty minutes. Now I gotta talk to the tower."

Hazard called for CEC, she and a guy had a technical exchange, and it ended with, "G-119 to WLW, at 3500, 140, confirm."

Hazard repeated, she got clearance for takeoff, and she revved the engine. "Hang on," she told Wendy.

The machine shuddered and the rotors shrilled, and then they rose, the nose tilting a little forward. Wendy watched the ground fall away, and off to the right she glimpsed the Pacific. After a few minutes, the helicopter steadied and set off. The sun lay off to the left, at about 10 o'clock. It was a bright day, very few clouds. The landscape below was green and rolling at first.

"OK," Hazard said. "We'll pass over the coastal mountains—we'll maintain an altitude of about 3500 feet above them—but our flight plan's pretty direct. When we land, a contracted crew will take over to inspect and refuel the chopper. If nothing happens, it should be a smooth ride, maybe some turbulence over the mountains. You doing OK?"

"Doing fine," Wendy said. "Great view."

"Gets old." For a few minutes they flew without talking. Then Hazard asked, "So how do you like being married to Dipper?"

"How much do you like breathing?" Wendy asked. "I don't even think about it. It's the best time of my whole life."

"You guys have a good relationship?"

"You mean the sex? It's great. But we're on the same wavelength. The sharing makes it real."

"Lucky Dipper."

"Lucky me."

More silence. Then Hazard asked, "Not gonna ask me about my love life?"

"None of my business."

"Ouch! Sorry for being nosy."

"It's OK. We're both grown women."

"Well, for the record—I work too hard, but the relationships I've had—no complaints."

Somehow that got them over the hump, and they talked from then on not about personal things, but just stuff like the scene passing below them. The deep-green clad mountains leveled out to a flatter beige-and-green landscape and then to the patchwork of farms. They flew over a highway running north and south—"That's the Five," Hazard said—and turned due south, paralleling it.

More radio chatter, and Hazard said, "We'll be setting down at a private helipad near the airport. The Agency shares it with the National Guard. The ground crew is Agency. They won't talk to you. Don't talk to them."

"Got it," Wendy said.

She saw the place—they were still at three thousand feet—ahead. The main airport runway ran north and south. Beyond it to the south was a creek. On the left side of I-5 was a complex of a flat-roofed building at the center of an X, the arms of the X ending in round concrete pads. "That's us," Hazard said. "We're landing in five minutes. I've got to get on the radio again."

As they circled and lost altitude, Wendy saw there was a small glass-walled tower projecting from the roof of the building, and the controller apparently had them in sight from there. More chatter, and the chopper steadied above Pad C—it was marked with a yellow circle and a large yellow H inside, with a smaller red C in a white rectangle above it—and they set down, Hazard switched off the engine, and the five-bladed rotor began to make a whickering sound. "Stoop over when we get out," Hazard said. "Never take a chance with a moving rotor."

They both hustled off the pad bending at the waist. An elderly man in an olive-drab jumpsuit nodded at Hazard. She said, "Full inspection, fill the tanks. We'll be taking off for the return leg at 1300."

He repeated the instructions and then said, "Ground transport is the black Malibu in slot 5. Keys in the ignition."

"Come on," Hazard said. "If you're like me, you need a restroom."

"Wouldn't say no."

The restroom was inside the square white building. The person on duty—a middle-aged woman in fatigues—didn't greet them or look up from her paperwork. Behind her a steep stair presumably rose up into the control room. Wendy took care of business, Hazard said, "Go wait in the car," and then Hazard took Wendy's space in the cramped restroom.

Wendy followed the paved sidewalk leading between two of the helipads and through a chain-link fence into a parking lot with space for about twenty cars, but with only seven parked there. The Malibu was unlocked, but the air coming from it was oven-hot, so she stood by the car, letting it air out. She took out her phone and called Dipper. "Hey, Dip! On the ground in one piece."

"Great. How was the trip?"

"I want to save up to buy a helicopter. What are you up to?"

"Tripper and I are down at the creek. I'm screwing the treads on the bridge."

"Lucky treads!"

"Ha, ha. We may have house guests tonight, you know."

"Eh, mental make-outs don't make much noise. We're about to go to the nursing home. See you around three, three-thirty."

"Stay safe. Love you."

"Love you."

Hazard strode to the car and reached inside her clutch purse. She snicked open a dark pair of aviator shades. "OK," she said. "Let's go visit the woman."

* * *

Cedars Center lay only a ten-minute drive from the heliport. True to its name, the one-story brick assisted-living apartment house stood behind a row of precisely manicured cedars, trimmed into perfect cylinders. The lawns were richly green and shaded, and two or thee elderly folks were out for walks. Wendy heard the clack of wood on wood as she and Hazard walked from the lot to the main entrance. On a flat grass court off to the right, some old men were playing croquet. One waved at them. They didn't wave back.

At the front desk, Wendy asked for Mrs. Myrtle Bordein's room number. "Oh, Myrtie!" the lady said, smiling. "She has so few visitors. She'll be at chapel services right now. That will end at eleven-thirty. Then she'll be back in her room, which is 120-E. That's the east wing, there on the right. You're welcome to join the services in the assembly room, or you can wait in the lobby here."

"We'll wait," Wendy said.

They sat leafing through old magazines for fifteen minutes. Then Wendy looked up at the sound of voices coming from twenty or so old people, dressed in their Sunday best, the men in suits or sport jackets, some with ties, the women in A-line dresses, some wearing hats. One, a crickety little woman who was using a walker, was heading toward the east hallway when the lady behind the desk said, "Myrtie! You have visitors!"

Hazard got up and Wendy followed. "Mrs. Bordein?"

The wrinkled little face peered through thick glasses that made her eyes look enormous. Her hair was a pure white, and she wore a somber black dress with white lace at the neck and cuffs. "Yes?" she asked, her voice crackling with age.

"We'd like to talk to you about your sister," Hazard said quietly.

For a long time the old woman simply stared. "About how she died?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she was just crazy?"

"No," Hazard said. "We think something made her do it."

"It's about time," the old woman said. "Come with me. I'll give you an earful."


	19. Witnesses

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 8, 2017)_

* * *

**19: Witnesses**

Stanford Pines called Dean Canova's office number, and when she answered, he said, "I'm walking to the Administration Building now."

"I'll meet you at the main door."

Mabel went on to the Student Center, only a short walk from Administration. Tammi and Aleisha were to meet her there at a table. She waved as Ford turned to approach the glass front door of the Administration Building.

He saw her react as he drew near. She pushed the door open, he pulled it the rest of the way, and with an odd tilt of her head, she asked, "Dr. Pines?"

"Yes. Dr. Canova, I presume?"

She was a handsome woman of sixty or thereabouts, trim and with intelligent eyes behind her spectacles. "I am. I would have thought you were your brother if you hadn't called."

"Oh. Stanley and I are identical twins. Well. Almost identical." He held up a six-fingered hand.

"I've heard so much about you. Stanley is so proud to have a brother like you."

"To tell you the truth, I'm extremely proud to have a brother like Stanley. I understand you two dated back during his last year in high school."

She nodded. "It wasn't serious, not as these things go, but we had so much fun. And then I made the biggest mistake of my life and ran off with a musician. That didn't last long. Thank God, I later fell in love with a quiet academic, and he encouraged me to turn my life around. Well. My office is this way, Dr. Pines."

"I'm sorry I never met you in those days," Ford said. As he followed her. "And my friends call me Ford."

"And I'm Carla. Come in and let's be comfortable in the anteroom. I have some documents to show you."

They sat next to each other on a sofa—a cabriole-style piece, upholstered in wine-colored plush—and Ford spent some time looking through a few photocopies of old letters, thirteen of them, dating back to 1949.

Letters of condolence. Thirteen students who, over the years, had taken their own lives, including the four that Ford was most interested in. "How many of these lived in room 439 of Colby Residence Hall?" he asked.

"Only four."

"So that's why the significance was missed," Ford said. "The trees were lost in the forest."

Carla Canova took her glasses off and wearily rubbed her eyes. "Those four . . . were widely separated in time. The reasons for the violence not clear." She sighed and gazed at Ford, her expression sorrowful. "Ford, among college students, suicide is the second leading cause of death, just behind accidents. With thousands of students, we have to be constantly on the alert for signs of trouble." A fleeting smile touched her lips. "At least we're doing better. The rate has dropped significantly. In fact, there have been no student suicides since Ginevra Norton, nearly nine years ago. Two attempts, or suicide gestures."

"Then earlier—"

"Yes, they came more frequently between 1949 and 2000." Her eyes teared up. "Our counseling services have improved. Students now know to look for signs of disturbance in their friends, to alert Student Services—so we can intervene. Now, these four—all female students, all living in the same room—yes, we should have spotted the pattern, but four of them spread over nearly fifty years, and nine other unrelated suicides in the same time period, well. We should have seen it, but we didn't."

Ford asked about the other students. Carla was right—no pattern emerged. Of the other nine, six had been males, three females. Six of them had either left notes or had told their friends about their intentions, even though often the friends did not warn anyone else. In all the cases but two, the motivations appeared to be clear: A romantic break-up, academic failure, gender anxiety, undiagnosed instability. Two of the cases that had no explanation—possibly because they came early—were the first victim of Room 439, Clarissa Wynant and the next one, Catherine Dearwood.

"There's just no information in the files on Clarissa," Carla said. "We didn't even have a psychologist on staff in Health Services until 1975, so—no medical records. I found a copy of the obituary in her hometown newspaper. This is it, I'm afraid."

She handed Ford a print-out. The newsprint looked oddly antique, not black, but gray.

* * *

_Clarissa Dean Wynant, 20, died suddenly of a fall last Thursday in Crescent City, where she was a junior in Western California State College. She is survived by her parents, Horace and Hilda Wynant, and her sister Myrtle, all of Rose Grove. Services will be held at 2 pm, Monday, May 5, at Rose Grove First Methodist Church, Reverend Walter Watkins conducting._

* * *

"Tragic," Ford said. "A young woman like that—her life reduced to seven lines of print in a small-town newspaper. And no detail."

"No one on our staff was around in 1952," Carla said. "Our institutional memory doesn't stretch that far back. The police report—there was one, and I've seen it—says that Clarissa somehow climbed onto the roof of the dormitory and leaped from there. She broke her neck."

"We're looking into her past," Stanford said. "And those of the others."

To his surprise, Carla reached for his hand. Holding it, she said, "Tell me the truth, Ford. The rumors of noises—sounds coming from the attic—is there something . . . uncanny up there causing these deaths?"

"I'm certain there is," Ford said. He patted her hand. "I could tell you stories. The world—he shook his head. "More things in heaven and earth, as Shakespeare said. The people I work with try to keep the mundane world safe. Part of that is protecting it from fear and panic. Part of it is fighting the forces that try to break through the walls of reality."

"I want to help," she said.

"We need your help," Ford told her.

* * *

And down in Cedars Center Assisted Living, Myrtle Bordein asked Hazard and Wendy, "Do you think we could go out for lunch? The cafeteria tries, but—it's a cafeteria. I can leave the grounds, you know. I'm not comitted here."

She wanted to go to a family restaurant half a mile from the assisted-living home. As she made her slow way in, leaning on her walker, a waitress in a pink uniform met them and gave them a beaming smile. "Mrs. Myrtie! I'm so glad to see you again."

"I'm glad to be here, Sara Jane. These are my young friends who gave me a ride. Is the small dining room available?"

"It is. This way."

The small dining room must have been intended for family parties. It had only two tables, four chairs each, and both were unoccupied. "I know you want to sit down," Sara Jane said, pulling out a chair for Myrtle. "Go ahead, and I'll have Irene bring in the place settings and menus and take your orders."

A few minutes later, Myrtle slowly began to cut her chicken cutlet up into tiny bites—"This way my dentures won't slip."

Hazard took the knife and fork and helped her. "There you go. My name's Amy, and this is Wendy. We know that something terrible happened to your sister. It's happening again."

"Amy. Wendy. What happens in that room is evil. You have to stop it," Myrtle said. She looked at them, her faded eyes sharp behind their spectacles.

Wendy had noticed that her skin, though wrinkled, was as clear and unblemished as a child's. Now her cheeks glowed with what seemed to be fury. "Tell us about your sister," she said. "We need to know all we can."

They ate as they talked. Myrtle Bordein's mind was clear, and the story she told, though it came out in bits and pieces, showed that her memory was sharp.

* * *

My big sister had just turned twenty. She'd been home for her birthday the first weekend in March, and she was fine then. We lived in Rose Grove, a little town not far from Redding. Country town. Farms all around us. Our father was an attorney working for PG&E out of the Redding office. For her twentieth birthday, Daddy gave Clair a car. That was rare back then. It was a new Nash Rambler, blue. Her favorite color. She gave me the first ride in it. She was so happy. That was the last time I saw her.

Then after she went back to college, everything changed. She was looking forward to her senior year at Western California. That was the name of Western Alliance before it consolidated and became a university. She was going to be a teacher. She would have been such a good teacher.

We had money, our family. Our house in Rose Grove had two telephones. That was rare back then. And a private line, not a party line. In the early part of April, maybe four or five weeks after her birthday, she called long-distance and asked to talk to Mama. I was sixteen then. I could tell from Clarissa's voice that she was scared. I called Mama and Daddy to the downstairs telephone. Then I slipped upstairs and sneaked into their bedroom and listened on their extension.

Clair told Daddy that she wanted to come home. Something was scaring her. It came out as she cried and tried to explain. She had a crazy friend. I can't remember her name now, but it was Louise or Lois. This friend was fascinated by stories of ghosts and hauntings. She and two of her friends and Clarissa had what she called a sitting. They attempted some kind of—I don't know. Ritual, I suppose. They were trying to call up a ghost or a spirit. Nothing happened that night.

Then a night or two later, the noises started. Something in the walls, Clair thought. The college looked into it but couldn't find anything. The sounds weren't loud. Scratching. And something like whispering. The sounds began to wake her up every night. Clarissa started having terrible dreams of fire and blood and pain. No one was there to help. She lived alone in that dormitory room. Back then the college had about three thousand students. Only about three hundred were women. The women were put into one dormitory, which was off-limits to all males. Each room was private. A different time.

Daddy was very down to earth. He told Clair to call our minister and admit what she'd done. He said her conscience was bothering her, that was all, and he told her that there were no such things as ghosts. When she insisted that she heard something, something real, he told her to be brave, she'd get over it. He thought that she was just anxious about school. But I could tell she was terrified. After they hung up, I begged him to let my sister come home.

Daddy was a lawyer. He would take a position and argue for it, and the more people questioned or contradicted him, the more stubborn he got. So . . . .

Well. You know what happened. On the first Thursday in May, I think it was actually May first, two policemen came to our house. I heard Mama scream. Somehow, before I could even get to the front door where she had collapsed and the two policemen stood over her, I knew what had happened. She couldn't even call Daddy at his office. I had to do it.

Sometime the night before, yes, now I remember, the last night in April, Clarissa. Let me catch my breath. I'm not crying. All my tears were used up years and years ago. But remembering takes my breath away.

I called Daddy at his office and told him to come home. There was an emergency. He wouldn't agree. He was doing business. I begged him, told him Mama and I needed him. He asked me what the emergency was. I told him we just got word that Clarissa was dead.

He was quiet. Then he said, "You're a liar."

I let him hear Mama. The two policeman had put her on the couch, and she thrashed like a dying fish, screaming and crying and praying and shrieking. One of the policemen spoke to Daddy. He came home then. First thing, he looked for someone to sue. His partners persuaded him that was hopeless, pointless. Clarissa had done it to herself. There was no question of—of foul play. We couldn't even bring her home right away. There had to be an autopsy because of—the way it happened.

Her body came back on Saturday. We buried her the next Monday. And after a few days, Daddy forbade me even to talk about her. He loved Clarissa, but—I think he felt so guilty because he hadn't let her come home.

Maybe a week later, the college sent Mama and Daddy a box with Clarissa's papers in it—notebooks, things like that. Without even opening the cardboard box, Daddy took it to the back yard and put it in the incinerator. He didn't want to be reminded. He piled newspapers under it and struck a match and turned around and marched back into the house. I was watching from around the corner, and I ran over and dragged the box from the incinerator. It was already on fire, but I put it out and found Clarissa's diary and a few other things.

She wasn't much of a writer. Most of the days were just notes about classes. "Remember essay is due on Monday." Now and then some quick mention of feelings or friends. "Diane is going out with Brett again. She'll never learn." Things like that. But I found the page where she wrote about the ritual. I remember the date. It was a Saturday midnight when they did it, April 12. "We sneaked into the attic and drew the magic circle and lit candles. Then we did the Templar rite the way it was described in L's book. Nothing happened. I couldn't stop giggling. L. got mad."

Then a few days later, "I think there's a rat or a raccoon in the attic."

And from then on, the writing gradually becomes incoherent, the handwriting getting worse. "Nobody believes me." And "I hear whispers." And "It wants me." And "No escape."

* * *

Hazard interrupted: "Do you still have the diary?"

Myrtle, who had finished her lunch, shook her head. "Daddy found it. He destroyed it. But by then I'd read it so many times I nearly had it by heart. I did save something else from the box that Daddy never knew about. Now I want you to have it."

She rummaged in her bag and produced a round silver medallion, hanging on a rawhide thong that had petrified with age. "I think they used this in the ritual. When I married, I married a good man, a Catholic. I converted. And I had our priest bless this. I hope that took some of the curse off."

Wendy said, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bordein."

"Thank you, child. Back then, our priest wasn't much help, really. The Church had a doctrine that suicide was a moral sin. Later, it softened this. People who aren't in their right mind, who are disturbed or driven mad by terror, surely God has mercy for them. Now it's rare to find a priest who will insist that all suicides are bound for hell. And like Daddy, our priest kept telling me that ghosts are an illusion. But I never took that to heart. For all these years I've wanted someone to take this seriously. To discover what attacked my sister. What murdered her."

Hazard said, "You've found someone now. My Agency has dealt with this kind of thing before. We know it's real, Mrs. Bordein."

Myrtle nodded and looked directly into Hazard's eyes. "Thank you, Amy. You and your friends who know about things like this—you intend to destroy this evil thing that took my sister's mind and drove her to end her life, aren't you?"

"Gonna do our best," Wendy said.

Myrtle's hard gaze swiveled to meet Wendy's. "Then both of you, make me this promise. I want one of you to call me and tell me when it's finished. When this thing is exterminated."

"I swear," Wendy said.

"I do, too," Hazard added.

"Thank you." Myrtle sighed. "I've outlived my sister and my husband and my son. I'm at the end. But I intend to hang on until I hear that the evil is destroyed. Then I can go."

"I think you may still have more to do on Earth," Hazard said kindly.

"No, I have business elsewhere. I want to meet my sister face to face. I want to tell her—'Clair,' I'll say, 'you have friends you never even met. And they put an end to the devilish spirit that drove you to what you did.'"

There didn't seem to be anything to add. Wendy looked at the medallion. It struck her as old, ancient, even. The bas-relief being it pictured was a seated figure with an evil-looking goat's head, the bare breasts of a woman, crossed crooked goat's legs, male genitals. The left arm was stretched to the side, hand open, palm up. The right arm was crooked at the elbow, the hand raised, first and second fingers together. The reverse of the medal bore the image of a cross, its vertical bar longer than the horizontal one. All four ends of the bars were forked, like a fish tail.

"Don't look at that thing too close, child," Myrtle warned. "It's been blessed, but that thing—that damned thing is pure evil."

* * *


	20. Refugees

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 8, 2017)_

* * *

**20: Refugees**

Ford called Mabel. "Are they there?"

He heard Mabel say, "Oh, hi. Just a second." After a brief silence, she said softly, "Got 'em both at the table. Allie's really on the edge. I'm gonna tell them you're my boyfriend. I'm afraid that if I say one word wrong, Allie's gonna run."

"Can you and Miss Yarrow persuade Miss Therrol to come to the Administration Buil—just a second." The dean was tugging his elbow. "What?"

"Let me walk out and speak to them," Carla said. "I'll bring them both back."

"Tread carefully," Ford said.

"You wait here. They're-?"

"At a table on the Student Center patio."

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

He waited on the sofa. It was more than two minutes, but not by much, before the door opened. "Dr. Pines," Carla said softly, "let's talk in the conference room next door."

He followed her. Walking in the conference room, his first impression was a twinge of nausea. One of the three girls at the table—to be absolutely honest—stank. Sour body odor, compounded of sweat and fear, hung over the girl half-slumped between Mabel and Brandi.

She looked oddly familiar at first, and then Ford's memory clicked. Allie Therrol was almost recognizable not because he had seen her before, not because he knew anyone who resembled her. In her stained yellow top, with her light brown hair hanging stringy and lank, her cheekbones gaunt, her eyes huge, Allie looked like one of those Depression-era waifs photographed in stark black and white by Dorothea Lange. Her dulled eyes looked into hopelessness, and her face had gone slack from exhaustion.

"She's worn out," Mabel said softly.

"Allie?" Carla asked. "Allie, dear, can you hear me?"

She didn't answer, but Ford saw her chin dip and rise in a slow nod.

"Dr. Canova," Brandi said, "Mabel's offered to let us both stay at her house at least until Wednesday. I think Allie wants to drop out, though. To go home."

"No," Ford said. He touched Carla's arm and jerked his head toward the door.

She said, "Excuse me for a moment." She and Ford stepped outside. "I think perhaps this would be the best—"

"No," Ford said. "Trust me. This—this force, this thing, it would follow her home. That's happened at least once before. The victim killed herself even though she had returned home. The thing is influencing her thoughts. There's a psychic connection that distance can't weaken, and I think sending her back would be extraordinarily dangerous for the girl—and from what her roommate has told us, her parents aren't sympathetic toward her claims of being persecuted by some occult force or entity."

"Will Allie be safe?"

"It's the house my niece, nephew, and nephew's wife share. I know this sounds mad, but it has occult protections that I myself supervised. I think for the time being, it may be the safest place for her."

"Is she ill?"

"Are you asking because of her poor hygiene? I'm fairly certain she isn't ill in the organic sense, Dr. Canova. But psychologically, she's desperately sick. At the house she'll be at least partly shielded from this thing's influence. She'll be able to clean up, we'll feed her well, and I think she'll recover some lost ground. Listen, though. This is imperative. You should evacuate the entire fourth floor of Colby Residence Hall."

"We don't have any space for the students," Carla said. "The dorms are packed. But—I don't know."

"Declare an emergency," Ford said. "There's a motel not far from here—I'm staying there, in fact—and it has at least twenty vacancies. Put the students there until Wednesday."

"The cost—"

"—is nothing compared to lives," Ford said. "Think of this thing as a contagion. It grows stronger as it drives young minds to such desperation that the students kill themselves just to escape from the terror. If the students in 439 are away, unreachable, then it will seek others. I strongly suspect that there's a reason for the—call it a haunting—to be localized to that one room. The phenomenon seems to be anchored just above that room, up in the attic. Tell me, were any of the other suicide victims residents of Colby Hall?"

"Just those four."

"And all from the same room. I don't think the force is strong enough to reach down to the third floor, not right now—but it could conceivably extend into room 440 or 437, if not further. To be safe, get the students out. I have a source of funding that could pay for the rooms for tonight, Monday, and Tuesday nights. The University won't have to reimburse the money. The students will probably have to be housed four to a room."

"Probably not," Carla said. "About half of our students have gone home for the fall break. Do you think the returning ones might be able to sleep on the fourth floor on Tuesday night?"

"I can't say for certain. If not, we'll need to intercept them as they return to campus."

"We can do that," she said. "How soon should we evacuate?"

"Now. Do it today. Give the girls an hour to pack necessities and any study materials they need—just for a short stay—and—oh, can you arrange transportation to and from campus?"

"We have two buses. Is this the Tekoa Motel?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I can arrange for a bus to take them to the motel, and for it or van to be available on call if the students need to get back to campus before Monday morning."

"Good. I'm going to call an agency and have it reserve the rooms. You call in your staff and—oh, give them the excuse that there's an insect problem, I don't know. And make sure the girls in the dorm aren't given the option to stay. Lock the fourth-floor stairwell doors. If possible, don't allow the elevators to open on the fourth floor."

"I'll see if that's possible. But how—"

"I'll need a key," Ford said. "Someone has to go up there to deal with this thing. I have a team, but we'll have to prepare and be more than careful, because when we go—it's going to be dangerous."

* * *

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _The bridge is finished. It took over two hours to space and fasten the treads. I walked across and back again, and they felt solid underfoot. Tripper pranced across to the far side and stood looking around him like Alexander the Great thinking, "I have a new world to conquer!"_

" _Let's go back, boy," I said._

_He's such a smart dog. He took a deep breath, looked at me, and I swear, nodded. Then he strolled across the bridge as if I'd built it just for him and led the way back. I carried the cordless drill, the little case of drill bits and screwdriver bits, and the few remaining exterior screws in a plastic bag. Tripper led the way beside the fence, up to the back gate, and waited until I opened it for him. In the yard, he ran laps around the inside of the fence—it's a routine of his—while I went in, stored the drill and the spare screws in the back of the garage, and then showered and changed. By the time I came out into the living room again, Tripper was up on the sofa._

_He grinned at me and hopped down. Lucky he hardly sheds at all. The house seemed so empty. Then my phone rang: Wendy._

" _We're about to take off," she said. "We should land in Crescent City right around three."_

" _How'd it go?"_

" _We talked to the first victim's sister. Got some information. We think we know how it all started—tell you about that when I see you."_

" _Bridge is finished. Got a call from Grunkle Ford half an hour ago. We're gonna have those two girls as house guests tonight. Mabel wants to give them our bedroom, we'll take her room, and she'll sack out on the couch. Ford says it's important."_

" _OK. We'll have to figure out something for dinner."_

" _I'll ask them when they get here. Grunkle Ford's taking Mabel and the girls shopping, because Ford doesn't want them to go to their dorm room even to pack. We're supposed to plan out our attack tonight."_

" _Gotcha. I'll tell Amy. We'll be ready."_

" _OK. Tell Hazard I said to fly you safely home."_

" _I think she'll get us back in one piece. Gotta go. Love you, man."_

" _Love you too, Magic Girl."_

_I didn't want lunch. Nervous stomach, I suppose. I drank a Pitt's Cola, making a mental note that we were running low. Mabel had planned to pick up some more over the Columbus Day break, but—well, maybe I could get Soos to ship us a couple of cases._

_Just heard the garage door open, so more later._

* * *

"Hey, Broseph!" Mabel said as she came in from the garage. "Look, quick, we're gonna take Allie into your bathroom. She's gotta have a shower, don't embarrass her."

"No," Dipper said.

Brandi came in, half-leading a thin, bedraggled girl. "Which way?" she asked.

Mabel waved from the master bedroom door. "Right here! Dip, Grunkle Ford needs a little help."

"Hi," Dipper said, but the new girl—presumably Allie Therrol—only looked at him vaguely as Brandi helped her to where Mabel waited. Tripper didn't rush up for a pat, but sat and watched and whined softly.

Dipper went into the garage. Ford was spraying the interior of his Land Runner with an air freshener. "Sorry," he said, straightening. "Miss Therrol has been sleeping in her car or just walking the campus all night for three or four nights. She's neglected to clean up. If you'll take this bag, I'll get the other."

"What are these?" Dipper asked, hefting a big plastic bag with the Sprawl-Mart logo on it.

"Underwear, clothes, and toiletries for the two roommates," Ford said. "Mabel got their sizes and bought them all."

"Where did she get the money?"

"I let her use my credit card," Ford said.

The two bags looked as thought they held enough clothing and supplies for six months. "That might have been a mistake."

"No, not if it saves a life," Ford said. They took the bags to the master bedroom and left them on the bed. They could hear the shower running.

"Come with me," Ford said. "I want to show you something."

They went to the front door, Ford opened it, and then he said, "It's difficult to see, but look toward the mailbox and concentrate on your peripheral vision."

Dipper did as requested. He thought he saw the faintest flicker of color. Squinted his eyes. Oh, yes. He knew what it was. "Purple," he said aloud. "The protective field."

"I'd hoped it would never be activated," Ford said. "But I'm so glad that I installed it."

"Thanks, man," Dipper said. "I think you might have saved our butts. But did the monster follow you?"

"I don't believe that's even possible," Ford said. "But the . . . call it the evil influence—that, I think, has latched onto Allie Therrol. I hope that here inside the house she's shielded from it. I'm hoping she'll recover."

"Agent—I mean Deputy Director Hazard and Wendy are on their way back. They should be here in an hour or a little more. When they come through the barrier—"

"Nothing should harm them," Ford said. "Text message Wendy and I'll do the same with Hazard. Just say that they must be aware that the protection field is up. Have them pull the car as close to the garage door as possible before disembarking. That will put them well within the sphere of protection."

Twenty minutes later, Mabel hustled in. "Listen, Allie hasn't eaten anything for two days. I'm gonna cook her a breakfast, OK?"

Dipper got up. "I'll help."

They cooked a stack of pancakes, scrambled a couple of eggs, and poured a glass of orange juice. When Allie and Brandi came in, Mabel said, "You look like you feel a hundred per cent better!"

"A little," Allie said in a rusty voice, hoarse and edgy. She couldn't meet Dipper's gaze. "I'm so much trouble."

"No, not at all," Ford said.

"My wife's on her way home," Dipper said. "We're happy to have you and Brandi as our guests. Here, we've made you some breakfast."

"Hey, Brandi," Mabel said, "I'm gonna have some of this. How about joining us?"

"I shouldn't," Brandi said, "but it does smell good."

"What do you want to drink? OJ, coffee, milk?"

"Milk, I guess. OJ and syrup don't mix well with me," Brandi said.

Allie expressed no preference, but sat and immediately drained her big glass of juice. "I was so thirsty!" she said. "Brandi, it—it's not here. I don't feel it here."

"You're safe," Ford said.

Dipper scrambled more eggs, made a note on the shopping list held by magnets to the fridge to pick up more on the next grocery run, and served Mabel and Brandi, refilling Allie's juice glass as he did so. He toasted four slices of bread, sliced a tomato, and fried some bacon, and he and Ford had a late lunch of BLT sandwiches and chips.

Allie ate, beginning slowly, and then eagerly. "You'll feel better now," Mabel assured her.

Brandi and Dipper washed up. Allie acted as if she were waking up from a daze. "What's happening to me?" she asked plaintively.

"We'll talk about that later," Mabel said firmly. Right now, you should try to have a nap. You can't have slept very well in a car."

"I—I'm not sure I've slept in days," Allie said.

"Come on. Great big bed. Brandi and you can share. Gonna be a slumber party!" Mabel announced. "Guys, she's gonna rest a little. Keep it down in here."

"We'll try our best," Ford said.

Brandi, nearly as sleep-deprived as her roommate, went into the bedroom to stretch out next to her. After a few minutes, Mabel tiptoed out. Tripper came to her and she bent to pat him. "You're feeling down, aren't you, boy?"

"I believe he senses the tension," Ford said. "Dogs are remarkably sensitive."

The three of them sat on the sofa, the TV on but the sound turned low. It was tuned to a movie channel showing some romantic comedy, set in France (you could tell because the Eiffel Tower was visible from every window in every building) and involving an American woman on vacation and a French tour guide gradually falling in love with her.

Ford discouraged conversation about the threat. "We'll have to go through it all again when everyone's here," he said. "However, I will say that with Dean Canova's help, we've cleared the top floor of the dormitory. I want to confront this thing as soon as we can—but not tonight."

Dipper felt as if his spring had been wound too tight. This was the hardest part—the waiting.

And then his phone chimed, and checking it, he said, "Wendy got the text, Grunkle Ford. She and Deputy Director Hazard have landed. They'll be here in a few minutes. They understand that they need to park in the drive, close to the garage."

"Good," Ford said. He got up. "I'm going to stand in the garage with the door open, just in case." He pulled back his jacket and revealed that he carried a pistol quantum destabilizer. "I want to be there when they come in to park. I don't anticipate trouble, but—well, I'm prepared."

"Should we-?"

"Thank you, Mason, but no. Between Hazard and me—I think we've got it covered."

Dipper rose and went to the front window and stood there staring out. Mabel came to stand beside him. "Brobro, I got a feeling this is bad," she said. "I mean, Xanthar bad, almost."

"Mystery Twins," Dipper said, holding up his fist.

She bumped it with her own fist. "Yeah. Mystery Twins! Uh, Brobro?"

"Yeah, Sis?"

"I don't say it enough. Love you, Dipper."

"Love you, too, Mabel. There's the car." He opened the front door. Replying to Mabel's unspoken question, he said, "Just in case. If something gets after them when they park, I'm going to drag Wendy to safety."

"Or vice-versa," Mabel said. "Here they are. Whoa! What was that?"

"The flash of light? That's the unicorn-hair protection dome. They're through now."

"But it only activates when—"

"Right, Sis," Dipper said. "When there's danger."

* * *


	21. First Blood

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 8, 2017)_

* * *

**21: First Blood**

Hazard got out of the driver's side, Wendy out of the passenger's. Dipper was halfway to them when Wendy yowled, grabbed her leg, and danced as though in agony. Dipper was already running toward her. "Wendy!"

"Burning!" She shucked down her green pants, stepped out of them—Dipper saw a stream of smoke curling from them—and barefoot and wearing only brief pale-green panties, she rubbed her right thigh.

"Throw it onto the lawn!" Ford yelled.

Dipper grabbed the pants, wadded them, and then threw them, balled up, out onto the lawn. The protective purple barrier flared as the pants passed through.

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "I need something to cover me!"

Dipper had been wearing a long-sleeved chambray work shirt. He pulled it off and ran to her. "Here, wrap this around you."

Hazard said, "Let me look at that!"

Ford asked, "What did you have in your pocket?"

"I don't know—an amulet or something. It belonged to the first girl who—ow! I think that may blister."

Out on the lawn, the crumpled green pants were burning, though as a ball of bright crawling sparks, not in a clear flame. "Mabel!" Dipper yelled, "Unreel the hose and spray that! Don't step on the lawn, spray it from a distance!"

Mabel turned on the water and adjusted the nozzle to a jet and blasted the pile of embers until it became a blackened, smoking mass. Ford said, "That's enough, Mabel. Shut off the water. Everyone inside, please! I'll look at that wound."

They got into the living room. "What happened?" Mabel asked.

"Had something in my pocket that got red-hot," Wendy said. "Mabes, bring me a pair of slacks from my closet, please."

With Tripper moving around, looking anxious, Wendy sat on the couch, Dipper's shirt draped over her lap. Ford had her swivel around so her right leg was stretched out on the sofa. She had an angry red circle on the outside of her upper thigh. Ford reached into his coat pocket and produced one of his anomaly detectors, a compact one—meaning it was twice the size of a typical cell phone. "Hold still, please."

He swept the sensor bar a few centimeters above the burn. The screen lit up and then offered a readout that ran for six screens. Frowning, Ford read it. "Well, good news first. Whatever the source of the heat, this is an ordinary burn, not in itself paranormal. It looks like a first-degree injury. Do you have any aloe?"

"Some sunburn gel in our bathroom medicine chest."

"I'll get it," Mabel said, tossing down a pair of worn, soft charcoal-gray pants. "Be quiet, by the way. Allie and Brandi are sound asleep in you guys' bedroom." She went and returned, holding a small clear bottle nearly full of a translucent green gel.

"Thanks," Wendy said. She squirted a glob onto the burn, smoothed it with her fingers, and then said, "Dr. P, I know you got an MD and all, but if you'll look away, I'll get some pants on."

"Sorry!" Ford said, turning his back.

"Ooh—ouch!" Wendy said as she stood, hitching up her underwear before she pulled on the slacks. "Damn! That's gonna be sore for a while. OK, Ford, you can turn around now."

"Let's go to the table," Mabel suggested. "The girls are pooped. I want to let them get some sleep."

Ford left the three of them and Hazard at the table while he opened the front door and stepped outside. They heard water running for a minute, and then it stopped. He returned. "I can see a small silver disk in the ashes out on the lawn," he said. "I'm reluctant to cross the protective barrier and approach it for a closer examination. Wendy, tell us about it. Could you draw it?"

"I'm not a great artist, but I'll try," Wendy said.

"Art supplies coming up!" Mabel rushed to her room and back with a small sketch pad and an assortment of pencils, together with two erasers, one red rubber, the other a gray, soft one.

"OK," Wendy said, reaching for a pencil and the pad. Then she stopped. "You know what? Let me describe it to Mabel and she can sketch it. I'll look on and make corrections and suggestions."

"Good idea. Brobro, go over to the sofa and put on your shirt. Your pecs aren't all that impressive."

"Forgot," Dipper said, but he retrieved and donned his shirt.

He sat on Wendy's left, Mabel to her right. "It was about this big," Wendy said, making a circle of her forefinger and thumb.

"I'll draw it about twice that size," Mabel said.

"OK," Wendy said, frowning in thought. "There's a hole through it up at the top. Not real big. That's about right, yeah. There was a thong that it hung on. Now, this side had a creature sitting on some kind of throne or some deal. It's peculiar. Sketch an outline of somebody's head and body. Yeah, that's about the right size, but it should be lower in the circle."

Mabel erased and re-drew. "Now this is nuts," Wendy said. "It might have been a mask or some deal. The head was a goat's head, looking straight at you. No, not cute. Menacing, I guess? Better. The torso is like a woman's. Naked. Bare breasts."

"Kinky," Mabel murmured, her pencil busy. "Hey, Wen, does Dip still surf the Net looking for—"

"Keep your mind on your art," Dipper said.

Wendy ignored the siblings' exchange. "Now. The left arm—look at me—was stretched out, palm up. Like it was ready to hold a ball or something. Pretty good. Now the right arm was like this—sort of out to the side, but the elbow is bent and the hand's up in the air. Hand nearly making a fist—wait a second, look—but the index and middle fingers are pointing up. Good. Now, the back legs are kinda crossed, but they look weird 'cause they're goat legs. Knees don't work like a person's."

Mabel refined her sketch until Wendy said, "That's close. OK, now the back side had a cross on it. No, not an X. Like a cross on a church steeple. Longer upright. Good. Now, inside . . .."

When the sketch was done, Ford looked at it and said, "Baphomet."

"Is that good?" Mabel asked.

In unison, Dipper and Ford said, "No."

"Mason," Ford said, "do you want to explain—"

"I've got the medallion in a containment unit," said a voice from the doorway, making them all jump. They had forgotten Hazard.

Ford asked, "Did you go out unprotected—"

"I went onto the lawn," Hazard said. "I wouldn't say I was unprotected. Anyway, I used an insulated grasper to pick up the medallion and drop it into a size 6 containment cylinder."

"You didn't bring it through the barrier?" Ford asked.

"No, Chief. It's on the edge of the driveway. The fire turned the lanyard into charcoal, but wasn't hot enough to melt the silver."

"I'll put it into the isolation chest later," Ford said. "Mason was about to explain the lore of Baphomet."

"Well," Dipper said, "you know more about it than I do, but Baphomet is supposed to be a type of demon worshiped by the Knights Templar. They were a group of knights that traveled to the Holy Land—"

Ford interrupted. "The _Pauperes commilitones Christi Templique Salomonici._ Actually, Mason, the order was formed in the Holy Land by a group of knights who proposed to protect Christian pilgrims. The order began in Jerusalem in 1119-1120. The Second Crusade was launched later in the century, and the Templars, who had quickly risen to importance, became key soldiers on the European side."

"And the Templars kind of created a banking system," Dipper said. "Anyway, their financial success led to their being accused of Satanism. Someone—I forget the name—testified that the Templars worshiped a demon named Baphomet. The thing is, that name's not mentioned in early Christian lore, and it's not biblical. I think it first showed up in the records of the Inquisition trial that led to the Pope's order dissolving the Templar order."

"Quite correct," Ford said. "The Templars, as Mason says, were immensely wealthy. By the early 1300s, many powerful secular figures, including the King of France, were deeply in debt to them. The cynical view is that the accusations of heresy and idolatry were a strategy to destroy the Templars and so dismiss the debts. The first mention of Baphomet was in a transcript of the Inquisition's actions dating to 1307. There is no evidence that the demon existed anywhere but in the minds of the Templars' accusers."

"Uh-oh," Wendy said. "I think I see a connection. It's like the ghost in the attic, right? Nothing until somebody creates a strong belief, and then it gets to be kinda real."

"Grunkle Ford," Dipper said, "who was the guy who created the image of Baphomet? He was an occultist, French, I think—"

"Éliphas Lévi," Ford said. "His major work was _Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie_ , published in the 1850s. It's a blend of history, legend, outright falsehoods, wild speculation, and political propaganda. Not exactly the most reliable source. In fact, as far as anyone can tell, the image of 'Baphomet' derives entirely from a sketch that the author—his real name, by the way, was Alphonse Constant—drew for his book. Since that volume was published, Baphomet has entered occult beliefs as a powerful demon."'

"Wait, wait, my head hurts," Mabel said. "So these Templar guys didn't worship a demon, and the demon they didn't worship didn't exist, but then people dreamed it up, and because this French guy drew a picture, it got to be real?"

"Very roughly, yes," Ford said.

"Then you're going to love this," Hazard said. She told the story they had heard from old Myrtle Bordein. She wrapped up, "So the diary was destroyed by her dad, but Myrtle remembered it pretty vividly. And the medallion was what the girls used to try to talk to the dead."

"The kernel from which the force in the attic grew," Ford said. "It is strangely appropriate that the image of Baphomet crystallized the paranormal forces. I wonder if any of the girls who took part in that ritual is still alive. At least one of them must have had a strong belief in the occult—that would be key to the accumulation of energies. I'm sure it was inadvertent, but they focused a lot of weirdness."

"They created a focus," Dipper said. "They sort of created a miniature Gravity Falls."

"Succinctly put," Ford said. "How is your leg, Wendy?"

"Sore," she said. "I apologize for the strip tease, but, man, it hurt!"

"You did the best thing you could," Ford said. "You got the amulet away from you. Throwing it onto the lawn stopped the reaction. The protective field was responding to its presence—trying to keep occult forces out. The energies degraded to heat, and the degree of heat shows that the medallion is the focus of a powerful proto-entity. Probably it isn't sentient, but that doesn't make it any less perilous. I'm going to formulate a plan. Tomorrow we're going to confront it—and destroy it."

"I think Wendy should stay here," Dipper said.

"No, dude."

"You're hurt," he told her.

"Little bit hurt," Wendy said. "But I saw how much this means to Myrtle. And I know it means that much to the families of all the other girls. Hurt? Yeah, like I say, a little. But most of all, Dip, I'm pissed."

He took her hand. "Then whatever this thing is, it made the worst mistake it could," he said. "It pissed off a Corduroy."

* * *


	22. The Pines Army

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 8, 2017)_

* * *

**22: The Pines Army**

Hazard had determined to stay overnight, with Ford's approval. She planned to borrow Wendy's sleeping bag and to sack out in the living room with Mabel, who would sleep on the sofa. Brandi came out of the bedroom after three hours, but the exhausted Allie was still in a deep sleep. "Let her sleep," Mabel said. "If she wakes up and gets hungry in the night, just come through and make her a sandwich. Let me show you what we got."

"We'll wake you," Brandi said shyly.

"We'll take that chance," Hazard said.

"Thank you so much. Not just for letting us stay or offering us food, or—thank you for just believing in us."

Mabel hugged her. "We college student-type women have to hang together!" she said. "Look, don't open the door tonight, no matter what you may hear outside. And keep Allie from doing it. If she wakes up and you don't—"

"I'll wake up," Brandi assured her. "I don't sleep that deep. Do you think it—it might have followed us?"

"Probably not," Ford said. "Come to the table. I want to see if you recognize this drawing."

Brandi bent over the sketch of the medallion's obverse and reverse sides. "No," she said. "This looks, you know, like some kind of cartoon monster on TV. Something the dog and the kids in the van might run into."

"And in the end," Mabel said helpfully, "they pull off its head and it's Old Man McGuire, the handyman!"

Wendy, whose burn had not blistered, was wearing shorts and keeping the pink spot anointed with aloe gel. She turned on Dipper's laptop—it was on the table—and found something online. She swiveled it. "Know what this is?"

Brandi said, "It says at the bottom it's the devil. Is that what—"

"No," Wendy said. "This is a picture of a Tarot card. Uh, Dip—?"

"It's from the 1910 Rider-Waite Tarot deck," he said. "The figure looks similar to the one in the sketch, but there are differences. The Tarot figure has a pentagram between its horns. It has bat-like wings, and its right hand has all the fingers together, not just the index and middle fingers. Its feet are talons, like an eagle's, not hoofs, and it's male, not part male, part female."

"And Tarot lore doesn't make this a card of death," Ford added. "It represents the dark side of human sensuality and materialism—attachment to pleasures and to the material world that distract one from spiritual development. It isn't a threat so much as a challenge to be faced and overcome."

"What's the thing in the sketch?" Brandi asked.

"It was a figure engraved on this medal," Mabel said. "I drew that, by the way. It was this—silver?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Looked like real old silver."

"This silver medallion with that Scooby Doo monster on the front side and this cross-inside-a-cross on the back. Wendy got it from the sister of the first girl who had a run-in with the attic moaner."

"That's the traditional symbol of the Knights Templar," Ford said. "They go back to the eleventh century."

"I don't know anything about the devil man or the knights," Brandi said. "Sorry."

"Does Allie dabble with the occult?" Ford asked.

Brandi looked uncertain. "Like—ghosts? These fortune-telling Tarot cards?"

"Anything."

"No," Brandi said. "When one of those ads for psychic hotlines comes on TV, she makes fun of them. Once she said if we wanted extra money, we could set up one and charge like a dollar a minute and just make up shit—excuse me—as we talked: 'I can sense that you called because you're a little worried about some problem. It may be your health or someone else's health . . . no, no, I think it's a matter of the heart. Love or the loss or lack of love—' And the person asks something like, 'Does the person I love, love me back?' And then you string them along until you make like a hundred dollars."

"She ought to meet my Grunkle Stan!" Mabel said. "Couple of months of training from him, and she'd be rolling in money to burn!"

"I don't believe in phone psychics," Brandi said. "Allie doesn't eather."

"I think I've got it," Hazard said. "You live in or near San Francisco, correct?"

Looking surprised, Brandi said, "Uh, right. I was born in the Western Addition. How'd you know?"

"You don't have much of an accent," Hazard said, "but there's a trace. Mainly in how you pronounce middle t's."

"Cool!" Mabel said. She jerked a thumb at her own chest. "Piedmont, right across the bridge! We're neighbors!"

Brandi gave her a smile. "Well, friends, too, I think. You guys, seriously, thanks for trying to help Allie. She doesn't deserve what's been happening to her."

"We're off track," Ford said. "Did Allie ever play with a Ouija board? Or Tarot cards? Does she read Stephen King, perhaps? Or watch TV shows about paranormal things?"

Brandi shook her head. "No, like I said when I told you about her phone psychic joke, she's skeptical about all that. I don't know why this thing latched onto her."

Hazard asked quietly, "How is her home life?"

"Oh," Brandi said. "Um, well—her parents are divorcing. That's stressful for her."

"There you go," Hazard said to Ford. "This is one of those psychic leeches that preys on insecurities."

"Very possibly," Ford said. "Well. I won't bother you right now, Brandi. If Allie feels recovered when she wakes, I may want to ask her a few questions."

Wendy stood behind Dipper, massaging his shoulders. "I want to see the bridge, dude. Did you take photos?"

"No, sorry," he said. "I don't think we should leave the house yet. Maybe after we take care of the thing in the attic."

"Let me go take some measurements," Ford said. He went outside and remained away for a quarter of an hour. Just as Dipper was about to go look for him, they heard him coming up the outside steps to the deck. He came in by way of the sliding glass doors, his anomaly detector in his hands. "Good news, I think," he said. "No trace of paranormality except a weak flutter where the ashes are lying on the lawn. The medallion itself is safely isolated and insulated—no signal from it at all. If you two want to take a short walk, I'd suggest that Mason carry his anomaly detector and keep it on. At the first sign of trouble, call for help. Oh, and take this." He handed Dipper his pistol-version quantum destabilizer.

"I can't leave you here unarmed," he protested.

Hazard laughed. "Kid, we got more. In fact, I think I'll bring the heavy artillery into the house. OK, Chief?"

"The full-sized destabilizers," Ford explained. "We have three. Yes, it might be a good idea to get them out of the car trunk and closer to hand."

"Turn on your buzzer, Dip," Wendy said. "Let's go inspect a bridge."

* * *

Afternoon was tapering off to sunset, but it was a clear day. Tripper had decided to come along as tour guide. Dipper and Wendy walked, not ran, along the grassy bank. The shallow creek gurgled over stones to their left. It wasn't a long walk, and at the end Tripper went and posed in the center of the bridge, as if he'd built it himself and was showing it off.

"Good job, man," Wendy said. She took hold of both rails and tugged. "Nice and solid. And the treads have good drainage." Tripper led as she walked across. Wendy arched her back, her hands in the rear pockets of her shorts. "Very good job."

"Well, you did more than half of it," Dipper said. He noticed that she was rubbing the pink burn on her thigh. "Hurt much?"

"Hm? Oh, no, itches more than anything now."

Dipper crossed and said, "Hold still." He ran the anomaly detector over the injury. Nothing.

"Gonna recover?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think you'll be fine in a day or two," Dipper said. "Baphomet, huh? I can't get my mind around it."

"How come?"

Dipper made a face. "It's not real. It's not even not-real in the ghost sense! I've read up a little. Nobody knows what the source of the name is. It sounds like something that was made up to sound vaguely Islamic—some enemy of the Templars trying to suggest that the knights weren't only usurers but traitors, worshiping a foreign demon. I mean—ghosts have some trace of personality. Demons have detectable minds. This just started out as a name, and then an artist gives it a form."

"Yeah, but it's real in a way," Wendy said. "It's really evil."

"Not even a mind," Dipper mused. "A ball of—hatred of life. Blind desire to break through into our world. To make humans suffer and die. Like a parasite."

"Tomorrow we'll find it and wipe it out," Wendy said.

Dipper noticed that Tripper had strayed to the edge of the woods. He whistled, and the tan mutt immediately returned, wagging his tail. "Good boy," Dipper said. "Let's go home."

He held the anomaly sensor in his left hand and held Wendy's hand with his right. "I can feel you're tense about this," he said.

_Well, yeah. Damn thing's killed four girls—or drove them to kill themselves._

— _Amounts to the same thing. But it just came from nothing!_

_The four girls who had the séance back in 1952 created it, I guess._

— _I don't think so. I think they summoned a thing—a form of energy that had no consciousness. Insensate force. And somehow their frustrations and fears and angers gave it a focus. I don't think it has any consciousness at all. But it's deadly. Lightning has no awareness, but it kills. This thing—it's less aware than a striking rattlesnake, but somehow fear and death feed it._

_Yeah, well, don't think you're gonna capture it and study it, the way Ford did the Shapeshifter. I won't let you do that. Or him._

— _No, the destabilizers should take care of anything material or immaterial. If it can influence or interact with people, it can be dissipated with the quantum ray._

They stopped at the back gate. "One thing," Dipper said. "Tomorrow when we go after this thing—up into the attic—please don't insist on coming along. It's already hurt you—"

"Really, dude?" she asked, sounding amused. "You think I'd stay away?"

"No," he admitted. "But I don't want you hurt."

"Then watch my back. But I'm gonna take a whack at this critter. It messed with me, so I am flat gonna mess with it. Besides, I owe it to Myrtle. Poor woman. More than sixty years and nobody listened to her, and she never stopped mourning her sister or hating whatever made her kill herself. I promised we'd take care of it and that I'd let her know when we did. Promised, man."

He embraced her. "Take your best axe," he said.

She kissed him. "You watch after yourself, Dip. I've been in this thing's presence. It's gonna try to make us all despair. Don't let it get to you."

"How could I ever despair when I'm with you?" he asked.

Tripper woofed impatiently.

"OK, OK," Dipper said, unlatching and opening the gate.

* * *

At ten that evening, the front door opened—it had been locked, but it opened!

A startled Dipper jumped up, fumbling for the destabilizer—

"What are you doin', kid, playin' cowboy and Indian? That's racist, ya know."

"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper said.

"Yeah, yeah, looks like you're throwin' a party. Whose car's that?"

"It's mine, actually," Ford said. He had been sitting at the table. "Company car. You made good time, Stanley."

Behind Stan, first Sheila, then Lorena came in, each carrying an overnight bag.

"I didn't know you were coming!" Dipper said.

"Eh, did Sixer make it a surprise?"

"I—forgot, I'm sorry," Ford said. "I've been rather preoccupied."

"Where's Mabel?" asked Stan.

"She and Wendy and Agent—uh, Deputy Director Hazard—are having a sleepover in the master bedroom with our two guests," Dipper said.

"Poindexter, the motel's full up, so—"

"I have a unit already rented for you and Sheila," Ford said. "Lorena will stay with me. Are you willing to help us?"

"Kick some spooky ass? Yeah, like old times with the Jersey Devil!" Stan said. "But I wouldn't have come just for that. I was bringin' you knuckleheads two cases of Pitt Cola."

"Mason," Ford said, "you bring Mabel and Wendy in. Amy can stay with the girls for the time being. We need to talk."

"Council of war?" Dipper asked.

"Yes."

"For the Pines army!" Stan said. "I like it."

* * *

It all had to do with the plan. Ford explained what he proposed: his wife and Stan's would remain in the house with the two college girls. "It's protected," he explained. "I don't think any paranormality could intrude, but just in case, Sheila can handle a destabilizer. So can Lorena, in a pinch, and she can keep an eye on the detector."

"So where do we go?"

"Dean Canova has agreed to evacuate the entire—"

"Hang on, hang on! Dean Canova? As in Carla?" Stan whistled and reached for Sheila's hand. "Darling, I gotta come clean. Long time ago, in high school, even, I used to date Carla McCorkle, back in Jersey. She moved out here, got educated, and now she's the dean of the university or whatever. But there's nothin' between us but old, old memories."

"Oh, shut up," Sheila told him, grinning. "She let you get away and I snagged you, and that's that. I'm not going to be jealous."

"That's a relief," Stan said. "Also kinda a letdown. Darn it."

"As I was saying," Ford resumed, "under Dean Canova's authority, the girls who live in the dorm will be required to leave. It's a holiday for the students, and University facilities are mostly closed, but they're opening the Student Center and the library and gym, so they'll have a place to wait it out. As far as they know, we're checking for some electrical flaw or gas leak. Fortunately, only forty per cent of the rooms are occupied right now, owing to the holiday. They're all to be out of the dorm by nine A.M. I have hazmat-style uniforms for our team. You, I, Hazard, Wendy, Mason, and Mabel will go in. Campus security will guard the dormitory doors."

"I think this is over planned," Stan said. "Mine's simpler. Go in, kick ass, chew some gum."

"I like this plan!" Wendy said.

"Please," Ford said. "We'll first examine Room 439. There's a bare chance that, even after all these years, something physical in the room is anchoring this phenomenon."

"Once more in English, Brainiac?"

Ford sighed. "The creature or force may be linked to something physical. Its powers were soaked into a medallion to an extent that it injured Wendy."

"What!" Stan looked furious.

"Come on, Poppa Bear," Wendy said. "I'm tougher than that. I'm OK, really."

"Something like the medallion," Ford said, "may still be concealed within the room. If it is, my sensors will find it. I think it more likely that there's something above the room in the attic. At any rate, our goal is to find and neutralize it. However—I won't deceive you, Stanley—the force may be very dangerous. It may try to destroy us to prevent our cutting it free of its anchor. We have to protect each other, keep our heads, and not go charging into peril."

"Got ya," Stan said.

"Then summarize what I just told you," Ford said.

"Kick its ass," Stan replied.

Ford nodded. "I'll accept that."


	23. The Abhorrence in the Attic

**Zero Regrets**

**_(October 8-9, 2017)_ **

* * *

**23: The Abhorrence in the Attic**

Pareidolia is the phenomenon of human visual perception that recognizes non-existent patterns, including pictures, in random stimuli.

You've heard the old story of the Man in the Moon, perhaps even made out the fellow's features when a silver full moon is shining down. Other people see not only the face, but the man's whole figure, bent over because he's carrying a load of firewood on his back, and they even see his little lunatic dog leaping up at his feet.

Or, to take examples the Pines twins knew well, the lazy summer-afternoon game of lying back on the grass and finding shapes in the clouds: a circus tent, a whale, a kitty cat with the body of a hamster. It could apply to hearing, too—Dipper once found a back-masked message on a recording that turned out to be the real deal, but if you record any length of speech and play it backwards, you'll hear first a nonsense jumble of sounds, but then perhaps some words may seem to come through the gibble-gabble: _mreeep bwaak zinzig must beeble burn grawk dernigle my vootie shoes . . .._ Don't listen to it. Or at least take off your shoes before burning them.

It's just that old devil pareidolia tricking you. Some people see the faces of saints in burnt whole-wheat toast, or Bigfoot in the shadows of a clump of trees, or a world in a grain of sand. That way madness lies. Push it far enough, and an electrical outlet with surprised eyes and an astonished mouth begins to whisper conspiracy theories to you.

But give us the right stimulus, and we all go a little bit crazy.

All because the human mind is hardwired (well, really gooey and squooshy wired, but whatever) to discover patterns that are in the mind, not in the world outside.

On the other hand, if the mind could not detect actual, meaningful patterns, Sir Alexander Fleming might never have discovered penicillin—"I say, my lab assistant's gone and let this bloody Petri dish full of agar develop mold, and for some reason none of the bacteria I wanted to grow has appeared. Oh, well, have him wash it out and start over again." Duck-Tective would never have realized that the mud puddle, the Fabergé egg, the noodle soup, and the ink stain on the ceiling meant "Quack quack-quack-quack quack MURDER!"

And Stanford Pines might never have comprehended that one out of perhaps a thousand ghost sightings had really sighted a ghost, that out of ten thousand faked knock-knocking poltergeists, one was actually an ethereal rap artist, and that his mundane philosophy did not account for every single thing in Heaven and Earth, Horatio.

Oddly, Dr. Pines was not what you would call a credulous man. Indeed, he was, at heart, a skeptic, but enough of a skeptic so he doubted even his own preconceptions. A physicist might dismiss a supposed haunted house as either a hoax, a misperception of physical processes, or the delusions of a disturbed mind. Stanford Pines went and checked it out and most often found some mundane phenomena at work.

But now and then—

Like this time. This was a now-and-then time. Something really did lurk in the attic of Colby Residence Hall.

After examination and research, Stanford Pines's educated hypothesis about the source of the suicides came very close to the truth. The thing, force, dynamic behind the deaths was an energy without life; a distorter of young minds; a killer without compassion.

Not that it was malignant. One must be sentient to bear malice. It was, perhaps, most like a plant or, better yet, a fungus. Plants require sunlight, rain, and soil to flourish. Fungi need only a medium—like a young person's life—in which to root, and, in place of moisture, some very fundamental superstitions, self-doubts, and fears. Everyone has them, some more than others. And those, the ones with more, offered rich, dark soil for the metaphorical abhorrent fungus to feed on.

Thus, like a fungus, the abhorrence in the attic slowly fed on these minds, grew on the feeding, and directed the mind into madness that, metaphorically again, tasted delicious. When a fungus loses one of its basic elements of support, it does not immediately die. It dries into dormancy. During the years when the inhabitants of the nearest room beneath it had no serious problems, insecurities, or fears, the abhorrence rested. However . . ..

When the abhorrence caught a vulnerable young mind in its coils, when the young person experienced agonies of fear and unending nightmare, when their suffering grew worse and then unbearable, when the wrenching of insanity drove them to desperate panicked self-destruction—that final moment was like a burst of energy straight to the abhorrence's vital center.

With each climax of death, it grew stronger. Its coils spread to cover more ground, to clutch the tighter at the next victim. The intervals between . . . feedings . . . shortened. The next victim need not be so emotionally stressed, so prone to believe in and fear ghosts and ghouls. A tiny crevice in the mind became enough for the abhorrence to send its deadly tendrils of fear creeping, creeping in.

Analogies always collapse eventually. Is it correct to liken the abhorrence to an ordinary fungus? Perhaps a poisonous one. The abhorrence pumped negativity and pain into susceptible minds. The victim could not pull herself out of the spiral—could not. Her thoughts became blighted, the processes of perception, thinking, and understanding warped. Every hopeful thought withered and rotted into corruption.

And yet the abhorrence did all this without awareness, without purpose, and without malice.

Its one imperative was this: _grow stronger._

Which meant _more deaths._

Having no sense of self, no organs of perception, the abhorrence had no sense of time. Yet in a way it quested, in the same manner, metaphorically, as a fungus sends out fine tendrils, mycelium, in search of nutrients. Something had just stung these tendrils—metaphorical again, since it felt no pain—when Wendy had taken the token that had been part of its summoning and its birth through the barrier.

She had felt only a lick of the fire. The abhorrence had taken much more damage. Without pain again, a considerable portion of its ghastly network had been seared away. It missed the severed and scorched connecting psychic tissue without knowing that it did.

Yes, this is all but impossible for a human mind to grasp. It is difficult for a human even to imagine, let alone comprehend, the nature of the abhorrence.

However, Stanford Pines had spent many years dealing with utterly alien forces and creatures. That night he slept little, because he thought, felt, and intuited that the abhorrence would brace itself against them and would even somehow counterattack.

Let's try another analogy, shall we?

Plants.

Plants can defend themselves without thought, without planning. The root of the cassava plant produces a harmless chemical that increases in volume when parasites or foraging animals begin to eat the plant. Perfectly inert inside the root, this substance can rapidly pass into every part of a plant under attack. As the insect or animal eating the plant swallows it, the digestive system of the browser triggers a drastic change.

The harmless chemical digests and dissociates into cyanide.

The attacker dies in agony.

Problem solved.

However—see the analogy breaking down—the abhorrence feasted not on substance but on minds.

And now, lightly wounded, it began to produce the psychic equivalent of glycol cyanide.

Even without a mind of its own, it began to produce defenses.

It did not understand or plan or care.

But if it prepared itself, the others would leave it alone.

They would die.

Problem solved.


	24. Allons, Enfants!

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 9, 2017)_

* * *

**24: Allons, Enfants!**

On Monday, Columbus Day, everyone got up early. Stan and Ford were at the door at six A.M, but by then breakfast was cooking. As Mabel worked on hash-browns and Hazard stirred their last dozen eggs into a bowl, Dipper's phone rang. He stepped out onto the deck. The caller was Billy Sheaffer.

"Hi," Dipper said.

"Pine Tree! Good to squawk to you again, buddy. Understand you're heading for a show-down with Baffy the Kid."

"Billy?" Dipper asked.

"Kid's asleep. I took over the pilot duties just to make this call, Pine Tree. Listen: Wish I could show up and be Doc Holiday to your Wyatt Earp and Red's Calamity Jane, but you know—stuck in flesh and bone. But I wanted to wish you and Shooting Star luck, and I got maybe a few suggestions."

"Anything would help," Dipper said.

"Yeah, I figured. Listen, Fez has a grudge against me, and nothing I can ever do will make Sixer trust me again, so this is important: make like this dope comes from your own tiny brain, OK? I don't give advice often, I'd hate to see it wasted."

"Whatever, Bill," Dipper said. "What advice do you have?"

"OK, the vibes I get tell me this is a Class 8 autonomous destroyer. It's got no agenda except to mess with your minds until you can't stand it and kill each other or yourselves. Destroying it is like destroying a rock. No sympathy for it, OK? Not even from Shooting Star."

"Got it. Wipe it out. How?"

"It hangs onto something material. Find that."

"Could it be a medallion? Silver?

"That been around where it manifests?"

"Not for fifty years and more. It has an image of Baphomet on it, though."

"That's where I got the name! Picked it from your sub-basement consciousness. It ain't Baphomet, and the medallion won't be the focus if it hasn't constantly been where the thing first appeared. That's not to say the silver deal might not be infected with the evil, though, so be careful of it. The vital connection holding the destroyer to reality has to be something anchored in place, get it? A sketch, a figurine, something. You got somebody with you who's a sensitive?"

"Eloise Niedermeyer. She can see ghosts."

"Then she'll know it when she sees it, but guard her. Sensitives are real susceptible to these things. It may go for her first—easy pickings. Anywho, make sure she's protected. Now, once you find the anchor, whatever it is, destroy that. Is Fordsy packing?"

"We have three full-sized quantum destabilizers and six pistol versions."

"That'll do it. Listen: Make sure they're all set on the following, OK? Power gen, set at 175. Beam spread, 25%. Duration, 24 milliseconds. That's gonna cause material damage, but can't be helped. Don't shoot off somebody's foot or head. If you nick Sixer's hand, you might turn him into Fiver. Shoot those numbers back at me, kid."

"Power 175, spread 25, duration 24 ms," Dipper said.

"Gonna have to go. Billy's waking up a little. He's dreaming now. Last thing: Don't clump. Little distance, don't make a crowd for it to aim at. Luck!"

Then he was listening to dead air. Dipper hung up and went inside to breakfast. Afterward, as they spread out their equipment, Dipper began to adjust the settings. Ford noticed and picked up the first destabilizer. "Mason, I think we should begin with power at perhaps 100, spread 50%. If that's not—"

"This is what we need, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said. "Please trust me on this."

After a beat, Stanford said, "This will evaporate normal concrete and metal. We'll damage the dormitory."

"But we'll get the thing," Dipper said. "We have to identify its anchor, right?"

"The thing that ties it to our reality, yes," Ford agreed.

"The instant we do, we have to disintegrate it," Dipper said. "We can't shoot the thing itself."

"No," agreed Ford. "It has no physical component in itself, and no ethereal body. Yes, you're right. We have to cut it loose. Think of the anchor as its link, its umbilical, the power cord that keeps it running. Eliminate that and the thing is destroyed. Let's get everyone out onto the lawn."

"Is it safe?"

"I've scanned it. Without the medallion, there's no link."

"After we destroy the entity, promise me we'll destroy the medallion, too."

"I think we should begin with the medallion, but in the vicinity of the attic. That may weaken it—or if not, it will at least provoke it. If it acts against us, we may be able to triangulate on it."

All of them except for Sheila, Lorena, Brandi, and Allie went outside. Ford distributed the weapons and instructed everyone on how to operate them. "Make sure that no one is in your line of fire," he warned. "Neither in front of, close to, or behind your target. These destabilizers are effective but destructive. We don't want to wound any of our own."

"Let's keep about a three-foot distance from each other," Dipper said. "We don't clump together in a crowd."

"Excellent advice," Ford told them all. "Now, the entity that we are seeking won't appear on any detector, and it's invisible. Don't try to shoot it. What we're looking for—and something I think I can set the anomaly detectors to identify—is some physical manifestation that gives the entity a foothold in our world Destroy that, and we eject the entity from reality. We in effect kill it."

"Whoa, Poindexter," Stan said. "You mean my brass knucks can't hit it?"

"I'm afraid not," Stanford told his twin. "But the pistol can."

"I don't like the Flash Gordon stuff so much," Stan grumbled. "But if that's the only way I can stomp it, just stay outa my way when I shoot."

With the disruptors set on training level, they practiced aiming and firing. Hazard was by far the best shot, not even pausing to aim and yet hitting the target on the lawn—a paper plate, staked into place by a nail—every time, just jerking her rifle up and firing from the hip.

Wendy was pretty good, but in the end, she took out her axe. "Dr. P, will this destroy whatever it is we gotta get rid of?"

"It's a remarkable weapon," Stanford admitted. "I'd say the chances are pretty good—maybe an eight-to-one probability that it will sever the tie, at the very least."

"Go for it," Stan advised. "Those are good odds."

"Do we have to kill it?" Mabel asked.

"Sis," Dipper told him, "we can't kill it. It's got no body, and it's not alive. On the other hand, it's killed four girls our age so far. Never gave them a chance."

"Not alive?" Mabel asked.

"No," Stanford assured her. "It's merely a focus of evil power, not a living thing. It's no more alive than, um, than—"

"Than a rock," Dipper supplied.

"Precisely."

Mabel said, "Then point me toward it. Pew!" She fired at the target and missed by only a few inches. With an annoyed grunt, she took two steps closer and from practically point-blank range, nailed the target, yelling, "I am the god of destruction! Eat beaming death, sucka!"

They changed into what looked like hazmat suits—though they were really only movie versions, offering no real environmental protection. They left off the hooded headpieces for the time being and took two cars to the University—Mabel, Wendy, Dipper, and Agent Hazard in Dipper's Land Runner, with him at the wheel, followed by Ford and Stanley in the Agency automobile. Sheila and Lorena stood in the doorway, waving, and at their feet, Tripper sat and whimpered.

They had permission from Dean Canova to rendezvous in the small loading/unloading area behind the dorm. She was waiting for them, Eloise at her side. "The residents are all out now," she said. "Hello, Stan!"

"Hiya, Carla," Stan said with his wide grin. "We pull this thing off, let's you and me put Van McCoy on the boombox and show these squares how to do the Hustle!"

The dean laughed. "You're on, big boy! We won't tell my husband or your wife."

"Nuts to that," Mabel said. "I'm gonna video it! Never miss a blackmail-portunity!"

"Seriously, Carla," Stan said, "we live through this, let's you and your husband and Sheila and me get together for a meal. She's not the jealous type."

"Neither is Jeremiah," Dean Canova said. "It's a date." She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Good luck, dear Stanley."

"Thanks, doll. Now, my brother here's got some warnings."

"I think it would be safer for you not to be in the building," Ford said. "This may be difficult. And I'm afraid that we may damage the structure. We'll try our best to minimize any physical destruction, but the nature of the infestation may make it impossible to avoid."

"If I thought that burning the building down would save the lives of our students," Carla said, "I'd light the match myself. If you'd like, I'll write and sign a waiver."

"We'll take your word," Stanford said. "Are all the entrances locked?"

"All secured."

"Then we'll go in."

Eloise fell in between Dipper and Wendy. "What do you want me to do?"

"You've got to lead us to it," Dipper said. "But be careful. If you start to feel weird, back off quickly."

They went in through the back way—a short hall led to the elevator niche—and in the lobby, Stanford said, "Eloise. I understand you're a sensitive. You can see ghosts?"

"Yes," she said. "It hasn't been a great gift. It mainly makes people think I'm crazy."

"We'll never think that," Ford said. "Deputy Director Hazard and I work with an agency that investigates things like hauntings. And we know what it's like to be thought crazy We all know that these things are real—and that the majority of the population doesn't want to know about them. Here. This may help." He handed her a necklace.

"A phylactery?" Eloise asked, fastening the chain.

"Technically, no. It's more of a ward. We all have them, and I hope this will either mitigate the entity's influence on our minds or else shield our minds so we're difficult for it to perceive. But listen, everyone! This force may attempt to warp your senses, to shake your confidence, or to give you hallucinations. Resist them! We have an advantage over its past victims—we know to be on the alert, and we know how it attacks. Let's use that. All right, half of you into the left elevator, the rest of us into the right. When the doors close, give a slow count of ten, then press the button for the fourth floor. Everyone assemble in the elevator foyer there."

In their elevator, Eloise asked, "Is everybody as scared as I am?"

"Shakin' in our boots," Wendy said, her grin showing that even now she wasn't fully serious.

"I'm feeling nervous," Mabel admitted. "Dip, are you getting these doubts?"

"Feeling I'm not good enough? That I'll let you down, that it may get Wendy or you? Little bit!" Dipper said.

"Me, too," Mabel said. "It's like something's telling me, 'You get a laugh out of everything, right? Laugh THIS off!'"

"May just be nerves," Hazard said. "Here we are."

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and a half-second later, the other elevator opened, too. Stan and Ford stepped out. "Now," Stanford said, "I have a passkey. Lead us to the affected room."

They walked down the hall to the end. Room 439 was on their left, 440 on the right, and just past them, on the right the fire stairs led down, while on the left the short side hall led to the janitor's storage room.

"We'll do readings in the room first," Stanford said. "Stanley, Hazard, cover me."

The dorm had not upgraded to card keys, and Ford held an old-fashioned metal passkey. He unlocked the deadbolt and cautiously grasped the doorknob. "Everyone ready? Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, Eloise, two of you to the left of the door, two to the right, and stand away about eight or ten feet. Stanley, flank me on the right, Hazard, on my left."

Eloise started to pass Ford, but Wendy stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "You stay with Dip," she said. "You and he have been ghost-hunting before. Come on, Mabes."

The four backed off. When they were in place, Ford turned the knob and yanked the dorm-room door open.

And for just a heartbeat, Dipper felt as though his great-uncle had unleashed all the devils in hell.


	25. Hell is Empty

**Zero Regrets**

**_(October 9, 2017)_ **

* * *

**25: Hell is Empty**

"Back!" Ford's voice whiplashed through the dismay that washed over Dipper. Past his grunkle, he glimpsed a nightmare hellscape—from the threshold on, the dorm room had become a vast underground chamber, spears of black rock jutting up not from lava, but from liquid fire. Skeletons and half-decayed corpses had been glued to the rock by their own dried juices.

In the roiling, turbid air, below clouds of black and burning red, great black birds wheeled, their wings striking yellow flame as they flapped, leaving jagged gleaming sinewaves in the troubled sky. "It ain't real!" Stan bellowed. "This thing is messin' with our minds! Concentrate!"

Dipper could feel the heat. Eloise grabbed him, whimpering. He strained.

For a brief instant, the dorm room clarified—there it was, a little messy, having been deserted in a hurry, bedding half-on, half-off the twin beds, window looking out into a clear morning. Then it all melted. Now tendrils of snaking black oily smoke began to leak out, trying to grab him. Eloise screamed.

"Close your eyes!" Ford yelled.

When Dipper did, it was as though he had stopped his ears, too. Sounds—Hazard gagging, Mabel's whimpers—came as though from inside a room with doors and windows locked and sealed.

"Wendy!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

He heard her shriek, the sound Dopplering away as she fell into the pit—

Then a hand against his neck. _Fight it, Dip! It's a hallucination!_

— _Is Mabel OK?_

_Pushed her down the hall. She's lying on the floor, curled up, but safe. Further away you get, the less hold this thing has._

Someone slammed the door with a sound like a gunshot, but hell lingered in the hallway, no visible manifestation, but a deep-seated terror billowing like invisible flames.

Dipper heard Stan again: "For cryin' out loud! Gimme the doohickey, I'll take it in!"

Then Ford: "Stanley, you don't understand this thing's power!"

"Hell with that. It's messin' with the Pines family. Come on, Poindexter. Whadda I do? OK, don't tell me, then. Wait here. I'll be back!"

"At least take this. You just have to make one circuit of the room, but what if that's a portal? You could be lost, or worse." Ford handed Stanley an anomaly detector.

"Maybe it's my turn. If it's a portal, see ya in thirty years."

"Stanley—please be careful."

"Gotcha. If I don't come back, tell Sheila I love her and the combination to the secret safe in my office is taped to the bottom of the register till in the Shack. And if I die, take care of her."

He opened the door again, and smoke smelling of burned flesh roiled out.

"No!" Dipper tried to catch hold of Stan's white hazmat suit but missed. Stan walked through the doorway—and his whole body burst into devouring flames. Clothes and flesh vanished in a blinding billow of yellow-white fire. Dipper heard himself screaming. The door closed.

An agony later, it opened again, and Stan walked back out, slammed the door, and handed the anomaly detector to his brother. "There. See what it shows."

"How did you—" Ford started.

Everyone was gasping for breath. "Take care of Eloise," Dipper told Wendy. He ran to Mabel and knelt by her. She was lying on her knees and chest, her out-flung hands against the floor, and she moaned, "No, no no—"

"Mabel," he said, forcing her to roll over. "It's OK. It was an illusion."

She opened her eyes, tears running down her temples. "I saw you dead!"

"I'm not," he said. "Nobody is. Grunkle Stan, you should've seen him. He walked right into hell and out again—" he heard himself laughing, and he couldn't stop. "He—he—carried the detector inside—and—and came out and slammed the door!"

"We're OK?"

Wendy and Eloise had joined them. "Yeah, Mabes, OK. God, no wonder those poor girls went nuts, that thing inside their heads. Eloise?"

"I thought Dipper was falling into that pit," she whispered to Mabel. "I grabbed his wrist, and his whole arm came off, and maggots crawled on my hand—"

Dipper helped Mabel up. "We're all here," he said.

Ford absent-mindedly murmured, "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."

"What's that, Chief?" Hazard asked.

"Hm? Oh, a line from _The Tempest._ Shakespeare. Hazard, look at these readouts." He handed her the detector.

"Nothing out of the normal range," she said.

"Stanley, you were right. It was all in our heads. How did you know?"

Stan had pulled off the hazmat suit. He shrugged. "Meh. I been a con artist too long for somethin' to con me easily. Second I saw that hell-pit, I thought, nah, gotta be a trick. And then I kinda saw the dorm room, what's the word, superimposed on the pit. That was real, the fire and brimstone was imaginary. And you know me, Sixer—I got no imagination!"

"That's not true," Wendy said. "You can dream up some crazy stuff!"

"Yeah, but that's different," Stan said. "That kind of imagination is just keepin' one jump ahead of the guy who thinks he's cheatin' you. Ignore what you think you see. Concentrate on what you know's really there. By the way, get outa those stupid white coveralls. You'll feel better."

They all did, except for Ford, who seemed to be trying to put words together. But at last he said, "Stanley, thank you."

"There's a change," Stan said. "What are you gonna ask me to do?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Eh, I know you too well, that's all. So what's the favor?"

"I think we could cut through the illusion if—would you dare to go back in with a camera and just transmit images of the room?"

"Gimme," Stan said. Ford handed him a very tiny electronic device on a band. "What do I do?"

"Wear this on your head. It's a G0-Cam. Just go in and look around, and we'll see the video on this tablet."

"Sheesh, I still gotta look like a nerd. OK, fix it on me the way it's s'posed to go."

Ford adjusted it until the little lens peered out from the center of Stan's forehead, like a third eye. He switched it on, then showed Stan his tablet, which had an image of the tablet that Stan was staring at, which had a smaller image of itself, which in turn . . ..

"Hah," Stan said. "Droste effect."

Ford nearly dropped the tablet. "How on Earth did you—"

"Poindexter, while you were away, I learned a lot of stuff to fix that thing we broke. Don't remember where I read that, but I know what infinitely recursive images are. Ya remember Bandelli's barber shop from when we were kids?"

"Yes," Ford said.

"Uh—what's that mean?" Dipper asked. Wendy was still comforting both Eloise and Mabel. Hazard looked a little pale still, but leaned against a wall as if taking a load off her feet.

"Bandelli's was a barber shop around the corner from our parents' pawn shop in Glass Shard Beach," Ford explained. "It had two walls of mirrors, big ones, one behind the barber chair, one in front of it."

"So when you were sittin' in the barber chair," Stan said, "you could look and see yourself sitting in the chair, and behind you there's another chair and another you, and behind that's another one and another one. Brainiac here always tried to count them."

"I always lost count somewhere around nineteen," Ford said, peeling off his fake hazmat suit. "Beyond that the images grew too distant and tiny to be sure of. It was strangely unnerving—ordinary reality receding and vanishing into a foggy gray infinity."

"Well, if I gotta do this cockamamie thing, let me do it," Stan said. "Get away from the door. If I yell, yank it open quick."

They backed off, he opened the door, and the hellscape re-appeared. Stan shrugged and said, "Meh, I seen worse," and stepped into it, closing the door behind him. "You getting' this, Ford?"

"Yes," Ford said. He held the tablet against the wall, letting them all crowd in to look. Stan was right—it was a dorm room, no light on, but plenty of daylight coming in from the one window.

"OK, let's see: This bunk looks like nobody slept in it recently. Covers all wadded, but it's just unmade. This one here, let's see, there's a bra, don't let Dipper see this, he's liable to get all sweaty and awkward, pair of jeans, one leg inside-out, I'm guessing this was what's her name, Tammi's bed, looks like she got dressed in a hurry for class or some deal."

The picture revolved as Stan turned. "Gah. The whatsit's making this place stink like a slaughterhouse built next door to an overflowing toilet. OK, two desks, opposite sides of the room, back to back. Books and I guess homework on both of them. Closets. Clothes on hangers, see? This one too-whoa!"

Dipper felt the hair on his neck prickling. When Stan pulled the clothes aside, he could see jagged strips ripped into the drywall—

"'Someone tried to claw their way out of the closet," he said. "Those are fingernail marks."

"I'm hearin' sounds from the ceiling in here," Stan said. "Scraping and scratching, right up above. You getting 'em?"

"Negative," Ford said.

"I hear them," Eloise said, her voice tense with fear.

"Stanley, listen to me: that spot may be the locus," Ford said. "Stanley, quick come to the door. I've got one last task for you to do."

"You got it."

The door opened—but this time the infernal landscape was gone. Just the room. "Here, Stanley," Ford said, handing him a round white plastic device with a button in the center. It was the shape of a tin of tuna, but only about a third the size. "Peel the backing off here, see? The bottom is adhesive. What I want you to do is to open that closet again, push this button once, peel off the backing, and stick this to the ceiling. It's a beacon we can read from the attic. It'll lead us where we need to go."

"Gotcha. Just be a second."

Again they watched the tablet as Stan walked to the closet and followed directions. Then he came out in a hurry, yanking the camera off his head. "You owe me one, Sixer."

Ford awkwardly hugged him. "You're a braver man than I am, Stanley," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, but we're married men, and Pinecest is weird. Come on, pat, pat, and that's over. What next?"

"Next," Ford said, "the young people go to safety and then we climb into the attic and find what we're looking for."

"No," Dipper said.

"Mason, think of your safety, and Mabel's, Wendy's, and Eloise's. We have no right to ask you to—"

"You got no right to stop us," Wendy said.

"Grunkle Ford?" Mabel's voice, still a little weak. "Dipper and Wendy are right. We're in this. If Eloise wants to go—"

"I have to see it through," Eloise said. "I brought this stuff to your attention."

Hazard said, "Chief, you may need everybody. This is a bad mother."

Ford bowed his head for a moment and then nodded. "Very well. Wendy, have your axe ready. Everyone else, make sure the destabilizers are set and activated. The green button above the trigger guard on the left is the safety. Don't depress it until we're in the attic. Which way to the ladder?"

"This way." Eloise and Mabel led them around the corner. Ford unlocked the door, and the odors of the janitor's closet, bleach and pine cleanser and moldy mops, oozed out.

"That's the ladder," Mabel said, pointing.

Wendy said, "Give me the key to the padlock. I been up there before."

"I'll be right behind you, covering you," Ford said.

Dipper realized that Stanley was still in the hall. He hurried back and found his grunkle leaning against the wall, breathing hard. He asked, "Are you all right?"

"Shh!" Stan nearly whispered: "Don't tell 'em you saw me like this. You want to know the truth? I walked into hell. I saw it all. Saw you and Mabel and Wendy and the others up to your shoulders in fire, down under me, dying. But I made myself see the real thing, too, like a double exposed picture. Made myself believe it was real, the rest wasn't. Truth is, the whole time, I was scared shitless, Dipper. Please don't tell 'em that."

Dipper couldn't even imagine taking a step into the inferno he'd viewed through the doorway. If his grunkle had seen that—and had forced himself to ignore it—it was an act beyond bravery. "Stan," Dipper said. "You did—" He swallowed hard. "That was—it—"

"Yeah, yeah, somebody had to do it," Stan said gruffly. "Come on. We don't want to miss the big finish."

* * *


	26. All the Devils Are Here

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 9, 2017)_

* * *

**26: All the Devils Are Here**

In the end, Wendy led the way into the attic. Dipper insisted on following her up the ladder, his quantum destabilizer pistol out and powered up. As soon as the two of them deployed, Ford came up, reaching back as he sat on the edge of the trap-door hatch for his rifle. Then Eloise, the sensitive, Hazard, Stanley, and Mabel.

The attic lights were only work lights, dim and yellow. Stanford had learned from the building blueprints where the light switches were, down in the janitor's closet, inside the circuit-breaker box, and he had flipped all three of them on. They helped, but just a little.

"Hot up here," Stanley grunted.

"No air-conditioning," Ford said.

"So what do I shoot?"

"Don't fire until we have a clear target. Eloise—what do you sense?"

Eloise whispered, "Can Dipper hold my hand?"

"Go right ahead," Wendy said.

Dipper, who was ambidextrous, shifted his pistol into his left hand and reached his right out to Eloise. The two of them lacked the touch-telepathy that he and Wendy had, but he could tell how frightened she was. Her hand felt ice-cold in his, and he could feel her trembling. "I don't like this place," she whispered. "It's all wrong."

They heard it at the same time, all of them—the high-pitched evil laughter.

And it sounded as if it erupted from a thousand throats.

* * *

"Hold her still!" Lorena said.

"We're trying!" Sheila said. She was holding both of Allie's wrists. A moment before, they had been sitting in the living room of Dipper and Wendy's house—and then with no warning, Allie had leaped up, screaming, "No! No!"

Brandi grabbed her around the waist as the terrified girl attempted to bolt for the door. They wrestled her to the floor. "I have to get something!' Lorena yelled. "Keep her still!"

Allie had an amazing strength. She writhed and bucked. Brandi actually had to sit astride her, hands on her roommate's shoulders. Allie screamed incomprehensible sounds, not even words, but a terrible gabble, growling roars, a tortured lioness might make, howls and screams. Sheila came back with a syringe already filled with some liquid. "Roll her over if you can!"

It was a hard fight. Allie flailed and jerked, trying to run from something invisible, shrieking the whole time. Lorena knelt beside her, one knee in the hollow of Allie's left leg, pressing it in place. She yanked the girl's jeans down as far as she could, exposing half of her left buttock.

Then she yanked the needle shield off the syringe. "Here we go. Still as you can hold her!"

Allie didn't even react when Lorena darted the needle into her buttock. Lorena grunted, trying to follow the girl's squirming as she thumbed the plunger down, injecting her.

"It's not working!" Brandi yelled.

"It takes time," Lorena said. "Not like the movies." She recapped the needle and put the empty syringe on the coffee table. Then she helped hold Allie down.

Over three or four minutes, the frantic thrashing subsided, and Allie spoke: "Get it out! Get it out!"

"Sh-sh," Sheila said. They had let her roll onto her back again, and Sheila patted her forehead with a cool wet cloth. "You're all right. You're with us. We'll keep you safe."

"Get it out of my head!"

"It's OK. You're all right now," Brandi said.

"Mommy. I want Mommy."

"Easy, easy," Lorena said.

Five minutes. Seven. At last Brandi lay still, breathing normally.

"Let's get her on the sofa," Lorena said.

She and Sheila lifted Allie and lay her on the sofa. "Brandi, bring a blanket," Lorena said.

Brandi ran to Dipper and Wendy's room and came back with a pillow and a knitted throw decorated with a pine-tree motif, one that Wendy treasured. Allie lay still, murmuring, not screaming.

"What did you give her?" Sheila asked.

"A sedative," Lorena said. "Midazolam. Stanford is an M.D., you know. He doesn't normally practice medicine, but he holds the degree."

"Why didn't it work faster?" Brandi asked.

"It would have if I could have injected it intravenously, but she was moving too much for that. Intramuscular was the best I could manage. Don't believe the movies—sedatives aren't magic. This particular drug puts a person into a kind of twilight sleep. She could probably talk, but later she won't remember anything. It just wipes your short-term memory, but the most important effect is it relaxes her."

"What made her go off like that?"

Lorena looked at Sheila. Both women suspected that their husbands were attacking the thing in the attic. But—

"There's no telling," Sheila said, and Lorena nodded her agreement.

* * *

"There," Eloise said. "Right there."

"Stay back," Ford said. He edged in the direction that Eloise had pointed toward. "Stanley, get me some more light here."

"Here ya go, Ford." Stanley, with a quantum destabilizer cradled in the crook of his right arm, held one of Fiddleford's compact, brilliant flashlights in his left. Its blue-white glare revealed cobwebs swaying from the metal ceiling support grid, slender gleaming silver threads dotted with dust particles. The floor was heavy plywood, unpainted, unfinished, but deeply covered with maybe fifty years of dust.

"Don't see anything," Stan said. "Are we getting close?"

"Be careful," Eloise said. "You're nearly on top of—"

Everything changed.

* * *

Allie moaned but did not thrash around. Her back arched and she said, "They're here. They're here!"

Her voice sounded so strange, so inhuman, that Brandi put her hands over her ears.

"You can go into the bedroom if you want," Lorena said. "Sheila and I will watch over her."

"I won't," Brandi whispered. "I'd want her to stay with me. I'll stay with her." Brandi had pulled a chair up near the sofa. She took the other girl's hand. "I'm here for you," she said. "I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe. We're with you. You're safe."

"Want it to end," moaned Allie. "Mommy. I want it to end, I want it all to end."

Lorena and Sheila exchanged another glance. This was it. This was the root of the suicides.

This was the origin of evil.

* * *

In the attic, Dipper gripped Eloise's hand as they dragged him down—skeletal hands, corpse hands, rose from the undulating waves of fire that burned his legs. "Wendy!" he yelled, but he couldn't even hear his own voice.

Stan again had that strange double vision. In one sense, he stood just where he had been, in the attic, Ford next to him, jerking and fighting something not visible. Overlaid on that was the hellscape, liquid fire nearly knee-deep, with demonic forms grinning and gibbering and reaching out for him and the others. Mabel was on her knees, the phantom arms gripping her hair, her clothes, trying to drag her under to drown in fire.

With a snarled curse, Stan waded to her side, grabbed her arm—she screamed and tried to bite him, but he dragged her to her feet. "Mabel, Pumpkin, it's me! Grunkle Stan! Close your eyes! Close 'em! Here—put your foot out—that's the trap door. Here's the ladder—climb down, get outa here! I'll save the others! Go!"

Mabel, her eyes tight shut, ducked through the hatch, then picked up speed as she climbed downward, gaining confidence.

Wendy flailed with her axe, cutting nothing but imaginary arms—but she was too close to Dipper. Stan waited for the backswing, grabbed the axe haft just under the head, then yelled into Wendy's ear: "Stop it! You're gonna hurt Dipper! Here—here, give me your left hand! OK, I'm gonna put it on Dipper's arm. Think to him! Let him know this is all just bullshit illusion!" He made the connection—

_Dipper!_

— _Wendy! Eloise is sinking—_

_Back away. Drag her. It's not real. It looks and feels real, but it's not!_

And across the room, Hazard bellowed into Ford's ear, "I got you, Chief!"

"Hazard? Get away if you can!"

"Not real, Chief. You know me. I got no imagination to speak of. Just shadows and hallucination. Get hold of yourself."

Stanford took deep breaths. "I think—I think—I know—"

"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper yelled. They had let Eloise climb down the ladder, down to a waiting, shaken Mabel. Now he and Wendy had fought their way close to Ford and Hazard. "I think it's under the dust! The anchor we're looking for! It's something hidden under the dust!"

"I got it, Sixer!" Stanley yelled. "I ain't as bad affected as you!" He ripped off his jacket and with the brilliant light on the floor, he began to wipe away layers of concealing dust. "Can ya see this?"

"It looks as if you're kneeling in flames!"

"Nuts to that! Here's something red, looks like the edge of a big circle—"

Something lashed at him, and with a yell, Stanley reared back as though punched on the chin, landing flat on his back.

"There!" Hazard said. "There it is!"

"Back off!" Wendy yelled. "Dipper, gotta do this one-handed. Don't let go of me! Gotta use my axe!"

They waded through flames—or that's what Dipper saw—past his grunkle, who lay ominously still, fire licking his inert body.

"Gah!" Wendy swung her axe.

"You're on it!" Hazard said. "Again!"

Using only her right arm, Wendy chopped again. Her special axe drew a silver arc in the air that hung on, like a supernatural rainbow of power.

Again. Again.

The flames abruptly vanished.

"Stand away!" Hazard yelled.

Wendy dragged Dipper back. Now they seemed to wade through a rotten slimy mud, unutterably ugly demonic bodies, skeletal, decaying, parchment flesh over bones, rising and sinking and clutching at them.

Hazard fired her weapon. The whole attic blazed with fierce red light.

Then she hit the target again. And again.

Overhead, the incandescent bulbs in their metal shades exploded in showers of hot sparks.

* * *

Far to the southeast, in an assisted-living home, an old woman named Myrtle woke up from an afternoon nap. Her heart fluttered strangely, and her breath came shallow.

She eased herself out of bed and into her bedside chair turned to the side, jerked open the top drawer of her desk, and pulled out a pad of lined paper. "Pen, pen," she grumbled, rummaging through the drawer. She found a fine-tipped permanent marker, the one she used to label her possessions. That would do.

She had not put on her glasses. She leaned close, her nose almost touching the desk surface, the odor of the pen alcohol-sweet in her nose, as with a shaky line she drew what she had just vividly dreamed: two circles, concentric, with symbols at the center and between the rims of the two circles. They were as exact as she could remember. At the top, she wrote "For Wendy Corduroy Pines, Western Alliance University, urgent."

Then she leaned back, breathing heavily. Her heart wasn't beating right. It was pounding, but somehow thinly, as if it pumped little blood.

Her vision clouded. She saw her room through a gray fog.

"It's done," she whispered. "They finished it somehow. I'm coming, Clarissa."

In her fading perception, she saw a leering, evil, goat-headed apparition ahead, its impossibly long tongue lolling, dripping strings of thick drool, its black-clawed hand reaching out, beckoning her.

"Oh get out of my way," she said irritably. "You're not even real. You're nothing."

The writhing creature faded, and in its place stood a young girl, looking lost and terrified.

"Clair," Myrtle Bordein yelled, though it came out as a whisper. "I'm here. It's all right now. I'm coming to you. It's all right."

And quite peacefully, the old woman died.

* * *

To be continued


	27. On the Shore of Eternity

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 9, 2017)_

* * *

**27: On the Shore of Eternity**

Getting Stanley down the ladder was an exhausting effort—Hazard and Wendy dragged him to the trap door and lowered him, Ford stood below to ease him down, and Mabel and Dipper stood by, feeling useless. Eloise kept murmuring, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Part of the ceiling of the janitor's room had been disintegrated. Ford opened the circuit breaker cabinet and turned all the breakers off—wires hung from the broken walls and ceiling. He knelt over Stan while Dipper held the flashlight for him. "He's gonna be OK, right?"

"I don't like the way he's breathing," Ford said. "Call 911. We'll try to get him down to the lobby—I think the elevators run on a separate circuit. If we're lucky."

Dipper punched in the number and told the operator they had an unconscious man and asked for an ambulance—"Colby Hall on the Western Alliance campus, use the loading zone, hurry!"

The ceiling in the hall gaped open, and part of the wall had been destroyed as well. The door of room 439 had been blasted off two of its three hinges. Wendy pulled the remaining hinge pin, and they used the door as an improvised stretcher. Ford and Hazard carried it, head and foot, down the hallway, debris crunching underfoot until they were a third of the way to the elevators. Mabel ran ahead and summoned the elevator—they were both still on the fourth floor, and she stood holding the doors open as Ford and Hazard lumbered down the hallway. They got Stan into the elevator—barely room, but enough—and Ford yelled, "The rest of you take the other elevator. Meet us downstairs!"

As soon as Ford's elevator had descended, Dipper pressed the button and the other door opened. Eloise said, "Mabel—"

"Not your fault," Mabel said. Then she put her head on her brother's shoulder. "Oh, Dipper, what will we do if—"

"It'll be all right," Dipper said. "Grunkle Ford's in charge."

They got in and Wendy pressed the button for the ground floor. Their elevator arrived only moments after the first, but Ford and Hazard already had carried Stan down the back hallway to the rear door and had put him down.

Stan knelt beside his brother, first holding his fingers against Stan's throat, taking his pulse, then holding his eyelids open. "I'm not sure what's wrong with him," he said. "Did you call—"

The wail of a siren cut him off. The ambulance stopped at the curb, Hazard opened the door and waved the EMTs in. Ford stood and said, "I'm an M.D. Get this man to an emergency room. I'm riding with him."

The driver said, "We can't—"

"Do as I say," Ford snapped, and his tone was so imperious that the EMT gulped and nodded.

Ford turned to Hazard. "You join us at the hospital. Dipper, Wendy, I'm counting on you to take care of your aunts and the ladies. Call Dean Canova." He reeled off the dean's cell phone number, and Dipper keyed it in. "I'll call Lorena once I have some idea of what we're facing here."

Mabel said, "I'm going with Grunkle Stan."

Ford said "It would be better if you—"

"Grunkle Ford, excuse me, but the hell with that! I'll ride with Amy!"

"Come on," Hazard said. They headed for the Agency car.

The ambulance screamed away, Stan and Ford inside. "This is my fault," Eloise sobbed.

"No," Dipper said firmly. "It's the fault of whatever was haunting the attic. Hello, Dr. Canova? This is Dipper Pines. Mason, I mean."

Carla Canova said she would take care of Eloise. "I'll have to make arrangements for housing all these students."

"Eloise can stay with us for the time being," Dipper said. "I'll give you our address. I have to go to the hospital where they've taken Grunkle Stan—"

"Stan's hurt?" she asked. "Oh, my God! What happened?"

"We're not sure," Dipper said. "I'll let you know as soon as I can."

"Do. I'm on my way."

As soon as she had come and led Eloise away, Dipper called Mabel. "Where—"

"They took him to the St. Joseph's emergency room," she said. "You and Wendy better hurry."

"I'll drive," Wendy said.

"Thanks," Dipper told her. He found the hospital address on his phone GPS. It wasn't too far from campus, and they were there within ten minutes. Dipper called Mabel again, and she told him how to locate the emergency waiting area.

They found her and Hazard sitting together, Mabel hunched in her chair, Hazard holding her hand. It was the first time that Dipper had seen Hazard with an expression of deep anxiety on her face, and his heart plunged. "Is it bad?"

"No word yet," Hazard told him. Mabel jumped up and ran to Wendy and Dipper, and they stood hugging her.

An hour passed like a week. Ford, looking haggard, came in. He had donned scrubs and a paper cap, and a surgical mask dangled round his neck. "How is he?" Dipper asked.

"He's . . . sinking," Ford said heavily. "I don't know. No one can diagnose his problem, but . . . he's sinking."

"We gotta see him!" Mabel said. "We can help. I know we can help!"

"I don't think they'll permit—"

"Dr. P, no offense, but I got my axe in the car," Wendy said.

"I'll see what I can arrange," Ford said.

Fifteen minutes later, they stood around Stan, who lay in bed in what they called a step-down room. His breathing was shallow, with intervals between breaths. "Shut the door," Mabel said. She stepped up and took Stan's big hand in hers. "Grunkle Stan! Wake up! If you can hear me, squeeze my hand!" After a moment, with tears pouring, she looked at Dipper, shaking her head.

"Grunkle Ford," he said, "there must be something we—"

"We gotta go in," Mabel said. "Do you remember the spell?"

"What?" Dipper asked.

"Remember when Bill Cipher went into Grunkle Stan's mind? We followed him! We gotta go in and get him!"

"Wait," Ford said. "You used the Magister Mentium incantation? That's incredibly dangerous in this sit—"

"I remember it," Dipper said. "Do we really need the candles, Grunkle Ford?"

"The—no, that's just setting the stage. Unnecessary if you've used this before—"

"Wendy, put your hand on Grunkle Stan's forehead. No time to lose!"

"Wait!" Ford said. "This is—listen, if Stanley should pass while you're—you can't find your way back!"

"Wendy," Dipper said, "you stay behind. Take my left hand and don't let go. If the worst happens, you're the anchor for Mabel and me."

"Oh," Ford said. "That . . . might actually work."

Dipper and Mabel put their right hands on their grunkle's head. "Here we go," Dipper said. He took a deep breath, hoped he really had all the words clear in memory, and then intoned the incantation: _"Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus. Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus! Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!"_

* * *

The Dreamscape of Stan's mind was the familiar grayscale world of the greater Mindscape, foggy, blurred, but recognizable—the land around Gravity Falls. "Where is he?" Mabel asked.

She and her brother were the only signs of color in the black-and-white world. "Grunkle Stan!" Dipper yelled. "We're here!"

They walked toward the distorted Mystery Shack. "This isn't right," Mabel said. "There's no big drop-off behind the Shack."

"That may be where we'll find him," Dipper said.

Behind the dream form of the Shack, the hillside fell away steeply. And a lonely figure sat on the ground at the bottom of the slope. "Grunkle Stan!" Mabel yelled. "Come on!"

She and Dipper ran the rest of the way.

Dipper felt a deep chill. Stanley sat, knees raised, elbows bent, head drooping. In front of him lay a black stretch of water—a river that, in the real world, did not exist.

They arrived, Dipper on his left, Mabel on his right. Stan, disturbingly pale, glanced at them and gave them the ghost of a grin. "Knuckleheads," he said gently. "Come to see me off, huh?"

"You're not going," Mabel said, sitting next to him and holding his hand.

Stan sighed. "Ah I'm no use to anybody. Tried to help Ford, and it all blew up. You guys better get back. My ride's comin' soon."

_Not necessarily._

Dipper gasped and looked behind them. A tall, emaciated figure in a black hooded robe had just . . . appeared.

"That's the ticket guy, I guess," Stan said. "I think I see the boat."

Dipper, his heart hammering, looked back. Far out on the black river, a boat slowly inched toward the shore, a stooped old man doggedly poling it through the water.

"Tell him he can't go!" Mabel cried.

The gaunt figure gestured. In mid-air a flat square, about eighteen inches on a side, appeared. _There is always . . . the game._

"Chess?" Dipper asked.

Stanley stood up slowly, like a very old man. "What? I don't know how to play that game!"

_Your nephew may coach you. There is no time like the present to learn._

"Come on, Grunkle Ford!" Dipper said. "We gotta try!"

_You may have the white men._

The chessmen appeared, ranked on either side of the board.

"Huh. I don't even know what these things are!"

"Teach him, Dipper!"

Dipper pointed. "These little ones are pawns. They only move straight ahead. The first time you can move one of them either one or two squares, after that, just one square at a time. Start with that one. Move it two squares . . . ."

* * *

_You lose._

"I'm so sorry!" Dipper said. "He's too good for me! There must be—"

"Best two out of three!" Mabel yelled. The ferryman was so close now that they could see his eyes, burning like two red coals.

_I am amenable to that. Here there is always time for a game. I shall set up the board—_

"No!" Mabel yelled. "You gotta play a game that Grunkle Stan knows, not chess!"

"Craps!" Stan said, perking up for the first time.

_I do not know this game._

"It's easy!" Stan said. "You just gotta roll the bones!"

_That sounds . . . intriguing._

Dipper concentrated, and two dice appeared in the air in front of him. He grabbed them and handed them over to Stan. "Here you go!"

"Honest dice?" Stan asked.

"Completely!" Dipper said. "You can't cheat—you-know-who!"

"OK," Stan said, handing the dice over. "Here ya go. We'll make this simple Seven or eleven win, nothing else. We roll until one of us wins on one of those numbers."

_What do I do?_

"Clear these cockamamie men off the board. There they go. OK, now you hold the dice loose in your fist. Shake 'em up good, then roll 'em on the board. Add up the number of dots that show on top."

The figure's bony hand held the dice as if they were caged birds. They rattled, they rolled.

_Twelve._

"My turn." Stan picked up the dice. "Sweetie, blow me some luck on these."

"Gladly!" Mabel bent over, puffed on the dice, and Stan closed his fist on them. Mabel kissed the back of his hand. "For extra luck!"

"Come on, babies!" Stan said, shaking the dice. "Papa needs a new lease on life!" He let them go.

The first hit and came to rest—a six. The second bounced off the top of the first and landed. Three.

"Next time for sure!" Mabel said.

The gaunt figure rolled again. A five and a five.

Stan rolled: a four and . . . a three!

"I win!" Stan said.

_Then we are tied. This game is too random. Name another._

This time Stan conjured a deck of cards from thin air. "We got time for poker? Casino? Hearts?"

The ferry was so close that the ferryman's pole only went in about a foot deep.

_Sadly, no._

"OK, then make it simple Cut for high card."

_Cut?_

Stan shuffled and re-shuffled the deck. "Lemme show ya. Here, I put the deck down. I pick up some of the cards, like this. The card on the bottom is my card. This ain't for real this time, it's just a demo. See? Six of clubs. When we cut for realsies, I try to get a higher card than you do, and vice-versa. First ten cards of each suit are numbered, then face cards are ranked up, Jack, Queen, King, got it?"

_Yes._

Stan reshuffled the card. "Your turn to go first. Cut and take the bottom card, don't show it to us, but hang on to it, and then it's my turn."

_I have my card. Your cut._

Stan, grinning, shuffled and cut. "OK, I got the King of Spades, not too shabby. You?"

_I lose. I have only a one of the red Valentines._

Dipper said, "But that's . . . uh, I mean wonderful! Congratulations, Grunkle Stan!"

Stan took a deep breath and blinked. "Huh. I feel kinda . . ."

The ferryman and the gaunt figure had vanished, and now Mabel faded out.

_Dipper! Come back!_

— _Wendy?_

_Come back to me, Dip. I love you. Come to me. Now!_

Dipper went.

* * *

_Don't fall down, man!_

Dipper staggered, hanging onto Wendy's hand. _—Wendy! We—_

_I know, Dip, I was with you, but you couldn't see or hear me—_

"Stanley! Do you know me?"

"Yeah, you're my dipshit brother—gack!"

Stan sat up in bed. Mabel yelled, "Yes!" She did a wild little fist-thrusting dance. "In your face, Reaper Guy! Don't mess with a Pines, Charon!"

Stan gagged. "I think I'm gonna hurl—"

Ford hastily held up a basin. "Here—"

With a loud retching gag, Stan coughed. Out from his mouth flew something like a black slug. It lay in the basin, pulsing, sending out waves of fear.

In his normal level tone, Ford said, "Dipper, your destabilizer."

He took the weapon, calmly adjusted it, narrowing the beam to only an inch, carefully aimed—

The black blob vanished in a puff of noxious smoke. A hole appeared in the basin, three inches across. A floor tile bubbled and then smoked a little.

The door to the room opened, and a man in scrubs and with a stethoscope dangling from his neck like a necklace stepped in. "Has he—whoa! Are you—"

"What's up, Doc?" Stan asked. "How come my ass is so cold? Where's my freakin' clothes?"

"What did you do?" the doctor asked Ford. "He was—he was—how did you do this?"

Ford clapped his back. "Well, Doctor," he said, "it wasn't brain science or rocket surgery!"

Stan laughed. "Sixer, that sounds like when we were kids. You oughta do that more. I like it!"

"This is amazing," the doctor said.

"Get me my clothes!" Stanley repeated. "Hey, I hope you knuckleheads didn't worry Sheila—"

"You can call her yourself," Dipper said. "We didn't because we didn't know what was going to happen with—we love you, Grunkle Stan!"

"Glad to have you back," Wendy said.

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm wearin' nothin' but this stupid gown. For the last time—get me my clothes!"

* * *

To be continued


	28. Winding Down, Winding Up

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 9, 2017)_

* * *

**28: Winding Down, Winding Up**

"So go already, Poindexter!" Stan exclaimed. "Go do what you gotta do, I'll be fine here. Mabel will stay with me until the cockamamie doctor decides to let me go."

"If you're sure," Ford said. "I do need to consult with Dr. Canova and arrange to help with repairs."

"Go, go. Remind Carla that I'm gonna call her so me and Sheila can make a date to have dinner with her and her old man."

"Will do. I'll be back, probably in a couple of hours."

"I'll wait," Stan said sarcastically.

He and Mabel waited in the same step-down room. Stan had received his pants and now wore them, plus socks and shoes and undershirt. The rest of his clothing was draped over one of the two chairs in the room. Mabel sat in the other and Stanley perched on the hospital bed.

"Thanks, kid," Stan said. "I appreciate you and Dip comin' to get me like that. I think I would have been a goner if you hadn't showed up."

"What happened, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked. "I don't understand how that thing knocked you out."

"It ain't too clear to me, either. Something hit me hard in the chest, I yelled, and that gummy thing zoomed into my mouth and I guess I swallowed it," Stan said, frowning. "Next thing I knew, I was in the Mindscape feelin' lower than a lobster. Like I was worthless. In everybody's way. People would be glad if I died. And I guess 'cause I was alone, I couldn't pull myself out of it. That's why you could save me, Sweetie. You and Dip just gave me hope. And the best way you did that was to get me playin' craps and cards with old Grim. And best two out of three—genius!"

"Whatever the sluggy thing was," Mabel said, "I bet it was what made the girls, you know—"

"Off themselves, yeah," Stan said. "Way I felt, I can understand that. I—Doc! About time. This is my niece Mabel."

"Hello, Doctor," Mabel said. "Hey, you're young for a doctor. Are you by any chance married?"

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, well, nothing ventured."

"I have to examine your uncle now," the doctor said. "If you'll go to the waiting room, I think I can probably discharge him in about half an hour—unless something shows up."

"Gotcha. Good luck, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel said, blowing him a kiss from the door.

Temperature, normal. Blood pressure, 122 over 75. Pulse 72. Heartbeat strong and steady. Lungs clear. Chest X-ray just in case. A few tests of mental acuity—"Remember this address: Edgar Field, 69 Sparrow Street, Melville. Now I want you to draw a clock face . . . . A quarter of an hour of that kind of crap, and then the doctor pounced: "What was the address?"

"Edgar Field, 69 Sparrow, Melville."

"Mr. Pines," the young doctor said, "you're in excellent health. I'd swear you were twenty years younger than your actual age. So I have one last question for you: What in the hell happened?"'

"Doc," Stan said, "I wish I could tell you, but I got no idea. You want, I'll have my genius brother give you a call."

"I'd like to know," the doctor said, "but on the other hand, the answer would probably keep me awake nights. OK, stand by and the nurse will bring in your discharge papers. Under diagnosis, I'm going to write 'Transient drop in blood pressure, cause undetermined.' And I'll direct you to consult your own physician. Good luck, sir."'

* * *

Ford, in Dr. Canova's office, said, "I can arrange for the Agency to cover the repairs. I fear they'll be extensive. From my survey, the floor of the attic must be replaced on that end of the building, and there is damage in room 439, the corridor, and the janitor's room. I seriously recommend that you abolish room 439. Permanently seal off the space. No student should ever sleep in there again."

"I agree," Carla said. "This morning when I woke up, I would never have believed in—ghosts or whatever this was. Now—I have to wrap my mind around a new reality."

"I know," Ford said. "I'm inured to such things now—I've dealt with them for many years. But an ordinary person can find comprehending them difficult. On the positive side, my scans of the attic show no lingering paranormal energies. My suggestion about closing Room 439 to occupation is just being exceptionally cautious."

"What if we opened the space up?" Carla asked. "We might make it a small meeting and study area."

"I think that would be acceptable," Ford said. "I would say the crucial thing is not to allow any student to sleep there overnight. The force took hold of sleeping minds. When Stanley was briefly unconscious, it affected him."

"Then there are the students," Carla said with a sigh. "From what your wife told me, Dr. Pines—"

"Ford, please."

"Ford, I'm sorry. Lorena thinks that Allie had better drop out for this term. I can arrange for a no-fault withdrawal so she won't take a grade penalty. If she could get some counseling—"

"If you'll allow me," Ford said, "I'd like to supply some funds. You may take care of making it available to Miss Therrol under the guise of student insurance. My people have a dummy insurance company already set up for such occasions. We can find a therapist and arrange for her treatment at no cost to her parents. I have a feeling counseling can help her with a few other issues as well."

"That's very kind of you. Thank—"

The office phone rang. She looked puzzled. "I shouldn't even be in the office today—one moment, Ford. Hello, Dean Canova here. Who?" She pulled a pad over and scribbled something on it. "Oh. Yes, I'll tell her. In fact, she's on campus now. Certainly. Mail it in care of me and I'll be sure she gets it. Wait, could you also fax it to me? I'll certainly see she gets both that and the original. This is my mailing address, and I'll give you the fax number."

She hung up. "Strange. A woman in a nursing home in the town of Willows passed away today and left a note or something for Wendy."

"I know who that was," Ford said.

"The fax machine's next door in the workroom."

"Let's finish the arrangements for the building and medical insurance, and then we'll check."

* * *

"I'm OK now, really," Eloise said. She, Wendy, and Dipper were in the Student Center, eating a late (and skimpy) lunch. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"It would be hard not to, with that thing bumping up your emotions," Wendy said. "I felt it, too. So—you're gonna be able to deal with it?"

"Yeah. Could I call you guys if I have any, you know, flashbacks or anything?"

"Absolutely!" Wendy said. "Or even Dip's Grunkle Ford."

"He's quite a guy," Eloise said. "I think I see where Dipper gets his smarts."

"Yep," Wendy said. "Of course, I've taught him a lot, too."

"I can identify pretty much any tree in the Pacific Northwest because of Wen," Dipper confirmed.

"And the need to do that comes up all the time," Wendy said with a grin. "In fact—here comes Ford now."

Ford had just stepped into the dining area—it was mid-afternoon, and on a Sunday during a school break, the place was not crowded. He saw them and came over. "May I join you?"

"Sure," Dipper said. "Have you heard from Grunkle Stan yet?"

"No, but I spoke to Mabel just now. He's being discharged, so one of us should drive over to the hospital. But first—Wendy, this is for you." He handed her the paper on which Myrtle had drawn the circle and symbols.

"What is this?"

Dipper looked. "A magic circle. Where did it come from?"

Ford said gently, "From Mrs. Myrtle Bordein. She passed away about the time we were up in the attic. I'm sorry, Wendy."

"Oh," Wendy said. "I—I'm sorry, too."

"She apparently sketched this just before she passed," Ford said. "I recognize it."

"What is it?" Dipper asked. "It's kind of like the Zodiac, kind of like the Dee Cone of Power circle. I don't know these symbols."

"They're not expertly drawn," Ford said. "But they're the symbols associated with the curse spell of Giles de Rais. He was a notorious character from the fifteenth century who reportedly was a master at summoning vengeful demonic powers to assault his enemies. He also was, well, a serial murderer of children. The circle of summoning is attributed to him. Unfortunately, a copy of the ancient woodcut of it appeared in a shoddy popular book on demonology published in the late 1940s and presented as a means of controlling supernatural forces."

"Demons?"

Ford shook his head. "Just supernatural forces, according to the book. Deplorably lax research. I daresay that in the hands of ninety per cent of naïve young readers, drawing the circle and performing the accompanying ritual—it's frankly gibberish—would have no effect. Unfortunately if one of the girls who performed the ritual back in 1952 had a touch of real paranormal power—well. Let's say the rite obviously opened the way for that abhorrent entity to manifest in the attic. And whenever a young woman of a susceptible nature happened to sleep in the room beneath it, night after night, it entered her mind and struck at all of her mental and emotional weak points. And that lasted as long as the original circle remained intact in the attic."

"But how did it attack—"

"My brother," Ford said. "From what he says, when he inhaled sharply, he sucked that nasty blob into his lungs. He lost consciousness, and in that state, he was susceptible to the entity's eroding his self-esteem. If it had managed to kill him—to make him give in to despair, give up, and die—then it might have started all over again. Now it's gone."

His cell phone rang. "Mabel," he said, glancing at the screen. "Stanley is eager to leave the hospital."

"I'll go pick him up," Dipper said. "Where's Hazard?"

"She's driven back to your house. She's making sure that Brandi and Allie are apprised of the situation."

"Wendy, could you clean up the table?"

"Go get Stan," she said. "Eloise and I will have some girl talk."

* * *

When the guys had left, Wendy said, "Seriously now, Eloise, are you gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, I think so," Eloise said with a smile. "I've been through stuff like this before. You?"

"I grew up in Gravity Falls," Wendy said. "Crap like this happens about once a month up there. You ought to come up and visit."

"I've heard a lot about it. Maybe I can get there one of these days. Mabel's, uh—she's special, isn't she?"

Wendy laughed. "She's something else. I wish I had half her energy and maybe a third of her optimism! Great sense of humor, too, even if it is sort of off-kilter a lot of the time."

"She's kind, too," Eloise said. She gazed at Wendy and then said, "The woman that drew the magic circle—it hit you hard when you heard she'd passed away. I could tell. Are you OK?"

"Gonna be," Wendy said. "Yeah, it was hard. I didn't know her at all, just met her that one time. When Amy and I flew down to visit her and she gave us that medal thing that nearly blistered my leg, Myrtle told us she was ready to go. I think maybe when we took care of that thing in the attic, she somehow got the news. She'd been hanging on until it was gone—and then when it was, she was ready to go, too. I kinda hope she got to see her sister. That's what she most wanted—to see her big sister again and let her know that the thing that drove her to suicide was defeated. I hope she got to do that."

Eloise let Wendy sniffle a little. Then, shyly, she said, "You're pretty fierce with an axe."

That got her a grin. "Yeah, well, I'm a lumberjack's daughter. And that's an axe I inherited from an ancestor. It's a hell of an axe. It could literally chop a ghost in half."

"Whoops," Eloise said as her phone chimed. "Just a second. Hi. Oh, hello, Dr. Canova. Yes, that's right, I'm on the second floor. No, opposite side of the building. No, I'm not afraid at all! Really. Uh, sure. I'll be glad to. Thank you!"

When she hung up, she said, "Dean Canova. She wanted to know if I was afraid to sleep in my dorm room tonight. I'm . . I'm not. That surprises even me! But it's true."

Wendy nodded and mused, "I remember the first time I ever saw a ghost. Two ghosts, actually. I kinda had to go home and sit staring at a wall and rethinking everything. But you've dealt with ghosts yourself. You get used to it. Key is to keep your mind on what's gotta be done. If you get scared, you can tuck the fear off to the side somewhere and deal with it later. But, hey, if you have nightmares or anything, just call. I mean it. You can call on us 24/7."

"I don't think I'll have to. But it helps to know I could."

"Let's dump the wrappers and get out of here. How about a walk around the campus boundary? I still got tension I need to deal with."

"Let's go," Eloise said.

* * *

"It wasn't such a big deal," Stan muttered. "You get a little woozy, some doctor sees a chance to get rich quick!"

"It sounds a little more serious to me," Sheila told him.

They were back at the Mystery Twins' house—that was what Stan usually called it—and when Stanley refused to lie down because "I ain't sleepy," they had gone out into the back yard to toss a ball for Tripper. Stan stretched, arching his back. "You know what these guys need out here? Nice picnic table. Maybe one of those giant-sized umbrellas, heavy wood table that wouldn't blow over in a wind, nice smooth benches so's the kids don't get splinters, good place on clear days to have a little picnic—what?"

"Nothing, Stan," Sheila said. "Except I love you, you lug."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, don't spread it around, but I love you too, Sheila. Hey, there's a little creek back behind the fence. Wanna go for a walk? Wendy tells me she and Dipper built themselves a bridge back there. I'd like to see it."

"Let's go."

The afternoon was wearing on. It was still a clear, fine day, warm for October, but they strolled, enjoying the quiet and the soft mutter of the water off to their left. Tripper zoomed around, ranging far ahead and then galloping back, sometimes proudly offering them a trophy: a pine cone once, and then a stick, and finally a live and indignant turtle, uninjured except for his dignity. Stan thanked the pup gravely, took the little turtle, no larger than a poker chip, and gently dropped it into the stream.

When they got to the bridge, Tripper ran to the center and sat down, waiting for them and looking as if he'd personally set down every timber and driven every bolt. He lay on his belly, head out over the stream, nose twitching, and half-closed his eyes.

"Dogs have the right idea," Stan said. "Everybody needs to have some time to take it easy."

"How about you?" Sheila asked. They stopped near Tripper, leaning on the rail and gazing upstream. The creek rippled and looked silvery in the afternoon light.

"Yeah, I was considering that too," Stan said. "You think I work too hard?"

"I think you're doing what you like to do and sometimes making money at the same time," Sheila said. "But—now and then I'd like for us to take a trip that doesn't wind up in a casino. I know you love that, and I'd never tell you to stop."

"Yeah, it's selfish of me. And, heck, I gotta admit we don't really need the money so much, but it's a hard habit to break. How's about this? Three casino trips a year, no more. And for every casino trip, one week-long vacation to anywhere you want to go. And we'll do stuff together. Go lay in the sun on a beach, though I never got what's so great about that myself, or go watch the whales, go to Hawaii, or France, or wherever. Just you and me."

"I'd love that."

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna go into details yet, but this little stunt with Ford—it kinda made me think of what I need to do, things I gotta straighten out. So, yeah, let's do it. Now you're gonna laugh at me."

"Never in a million years."

Stan kissed her cheek. "OK. So here's the joke. Once I came close to bein' elected mayor of Gravity Falls. The laws have changed since old Mayor Befufflefumpter's time, so it's no longer a what-do-you call it, word that begins with 'S,' Ford would know it, means a lifetime job. Anyhow, now it's a four-year term, and Tyler's told me he wants to step down in a couple years. What would you say if I wanted to run for Mayor? I mean, God, I hate politicians, they're always so crooked! So I figure there's room for me."

"I think I would love being First Lady of Gravity Falls," Sheila said.

"Damn, I think I'm gonna do it," Stanley said.

"Are you going to tell me what landed you in the hospital?"

He said, "One day soon, babe. Let me what do you call it, process it all first. But soon. 'Cause I love you, in case you didn't know."

"Then kiss me."

"Anything for you, Sheila. Anything for you."

* * *

Sheila drove Mabel's car down to pick up her husband and Mabel for the drive back to the house. Hazard drove Brandi and Allie in—though Allie still felt a little groggy. Dean Canova told them their room had been damaged and invited them to pass the night in her guest room. Ford accompanied them to their room to retrieve clothes—fortunately, the closets had not been damaged—and necessities, and they went with Carla after that.

Ford, Wendy, and Dipper drove back in Dipper's car.

Stanley seemed to be his old self, though he was a lot more huggy with Sheila than usual. That evening, Ford treated everyone to dinner at one of the upscale restaurants in town—a seafood place, but with a varied menu. He and Lorena, Stan and Sheila, would spend another night in the motel and then next morning would drive back to Gravity Falls in the Stanleymobile. Deputy Director Hazard was driving the company car back to Oregon.

"Well," Dipper said to Wendy as they got ready for bed, "tomorrow's the last day of our little fall break. Run?"

"Of course!" Wendy said. "We gotta try out that bridge."

"All right," he said. He set the alarm for six.

As they lay in bed, he said, "You're sad."

Wendy whispered, "Kind of. Miss Myrtle was a special old lady. If I make it to eighty, I want to be like her."

"I wish I'd met her."

"Yeah. At least she . . . well, she was ready. She went when we busted that horrible thing."

"Thanks to you and your axe."

"Not me, man. Thanks mostly to Stan. Ford's great, don't get me wrong. But Stan, man—that song from the Don Quixote musical? What's the line about marching into hell?"

"To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause," Dipper said. "Yeah. Stan has that. I know what you mean. He'd make fun of me for saying it, but God bless Stanley Pines."

"Amen to that. Hold me, Dipper. Just . . . let's hold each other."


	29. Getting Back to Normal

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 10, 2017)_

* * *

**29: Getting Back to Normal**

Tuesday was a regular school day for Mabel, but Dipper and Wendy had one precious day of fall break left to enjoy.

The two of them got out of bed early, and knowing that Mabel would have to drag herself in to her eight A.M. class and probably would skip breakfast, Wendy and Dipper decided to take care of that. Before they started their run, they put on a pot of coffee, scrambled a couple of eggs with cheddar cheese, popped sourdough bread into the toaster, and fried a couple of turkey sausage links for her.

Tripper's sensitive nose woke him, he woke Mabel, and at 6:45, she came yawning out of her room. She paused to unlatch the doggy door, Tripper clacked out onto the deck and ran down the steps, and Mabel, stretching and rubbing her eyes, said, "Thought you guys were gonna go for a run."

"We don't have class today," Wendy said. "And the last few days have been kinda stressful on you, so we thought we'd make your breakfast."

"Oh, yeah!" Mabel murmured, opening the fridge and taking out a pitcher of orange juice. "Curse my artistic soul! If I'd gone to WA instead of Olmsted, I'd have a longer fall break. Thanks, Brobro, that looks good. Mm. Hey, get the butter, please?"

Dipper took it and a jar of Wendy's Aunt Sallie's cherry jam from the fridge and set it on the table. "You have rehearsal this afternoon?"

"Nuh-uh," Mabel said, slathering butter on her toast the way a mason spreads mortar on bricks. "I'll be home around two-thirty, but I'll have to leave again at six-thirty for night rehearsal. Let's have an early dinner, OK? Burgers on the grill?"

"If it doesn't rain. If it looks like it will, Wen and I will throw something together. Don't choke yourself, Sis!"

Mabel slowed down her egg-shoveling to gulp down a big bite and then said, "I can't wait to get on the main stage! Sets are up on the stage, just need finishing, and we got the real puppets now! But so far, we're still in the rehearsal hall."

"You need anything else?" Dipper asked.

"Mm, no, thanks." Mabel mopped the few remnants of scramble up with a scrap of toast. "Seriously, this is so nice, guys. Hey, can Tripper go with you on your run?"

"Sure," Wendy said. "He's a good coach. He sets the pace."

"Cool. Be sure to latch the back gate after, though. He's a smart dog, but he shouldn't be out running around on his own."

"We'll take care of it," Dipper said. "Have a good day at school!"

"You two have a great day at home," Mabel said with a meaningful wink.

Dipper and Wendy, already dressed in their running togs, went into the back yard and did their stretching exercises under a pearly overcast sky, while Tripper climbed the steps to the deck for the breakfast that Mabel set out for him. He eagerly gobbled the dog chow, excited because two of his people were outside. By the time Dipper unlatched the back gate, Tripper had returned, clearly elated that he was going to get to run with them.

They broke into a jog, Tripper zoomed ahead, zoomed back, circled them, and then ran to the bridge to wait for them to catch up.

The bridge was sturdy but narrow. Tripper led the way, turned on the far bank, and looked back, dancing around as if saying, "See? It's safe! Come on! Even if it collapses, I'll dive in and save you before you drown!"

True, the creek was only a foot deep at the center, but the Noble Dog stood ready. Wendy ran across first, Dipper close behind her, admiring the view. Then they turned left and ran on the grassy verge of the forest reserve for two full miles to the point where they had planted a small stake. The clouds darkened as they ran, and just as they made their turn, the drizzle began. It wasn't heavy enough to soak them, but cooled them down.

Tripper, who tolerated but did not love baths, urged them to run faster to get home before the skies opened and the deluge began.

In reality, no deluge threatened or arrived. The mild drizzle, hardly more than a fog, continued. They crossed the bridge—Dipper, panting, said, "I'll buy a bucket of traction paint . . . and treat the treads . . . so they're not slippery when wet."

"Sounds good."

They got home, rubbed Tripper down with a towel—he was barely damp and greatly enjoyed the massage. Then Wendy and Dipper decided they were just damp and could have breakfast before changing out of their running clothes. Dipper scrambled eggs, Wendy toasted bread, and they made egg sandwiches with hot coffee and the last of the OJ to wash down the food.

Mabel had considerately cleaned up after her breakfast, and their own clean-up took only a minute. Tripper had settled down on the fluffy dog bed Mabel kept beside the doorway to the mud room and wriggled as he made himself comfortable, settling in for a nap.

"Come on," Wendy said, taking Dipper's hand and leading him toward their room. "We got that nice big shower stall, and I really, really need my back scrubbed."

"Glad to help, Wen," Dipper said.

"Yeah, maybe my front, too."

The soapy, warm, slippery shower left them in the mood, and after they got themselves out of the mood again, they took another, briefer shower and lovingly dried each other. Then, both of them happy, they lay lazily in bed, touching, cuddling, and thinking to each other.

— _You're sad about that lady in Willows._

_Yeah, Mrs. Bordein. She spent her whole life wanting to somehow make it up to her big sister. Myrtle thought she'd failed her somehow. Just wish we could have told her what we did. But I think maybe somehow, she knew. Still, would've been nice to talk to her._

— _I'm sorry she felt guilty. Nothing she could have done._

_Hey, what did Ford do with that medal—what was the demon guy's name?_

— _Baphomet. Grunkle Ford disintegrated it yesterday, he said. It didn't register as having any power, but he got rid of it for good. Best thing to do with it._

_So—if the thing up in the attic wasn't him, how come the medal burned my jeans and my leg?_

— _Well—Myrtle got it from her sister, right? And her sister must've got it from whoever did the ritual up in the attic. Or maybe she was the one who got the girls to do it in the first place. Anyhow, either way, the medal was up there when the girls tried the summoning, and because at least one of the girls believed it symbolized whatever it was they conjured up, it absorbed some of the evil, I guess? Ford thinks it was harmless after we did the exorcism, but just to be safe—zap._

_You know, Dip? I think we need to see to it that the families of the girls who were victims know that something nobody could predict or control influenced the girls and that it's been exorcized._

— _Don't know about that, Wen. It's a good thought, but I see problems. First, nobody ever wants to know about stuff like that. We might just open old emotional wounds, you know? And second, they'd probably want to sue the University, some of them._

_Yeah, guess so. That's rotten. Maybe—how about we ask the Dean if we could do some kind of little memorial?_

— _Like what?_

_Well, there's all those flower beds on campus. Dozens. What if we got some stones or bricks or something and inscribed on them the names of the students who died? We could put them in the flower beds, so they'd just, you know, be there. So people would read them and at least know that those girls had been students here._

— _I think that's a great idea. Let's ask her tomorrow._

_OK. What time is it? Nearly eleven! We could get up and clean the place, but that'll only take a couple of hours. Plenty of time. You caught up on your homework and all, Dip?_

— _You know I am. You?_

_Yep. Gee, here we are, naked in bed, nothing much to do. Any ideas?_

Turned out they both had the same idea.

And it was a very, very good one.

* * *


	30. Downs and Ups

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 11-12, 2017)_

* * *

**30: Downs and Ups**

Wendy, still bothered, made five or six phone calls on Tuesday. That afternoon, she told Dipper and Mabel, "Myrtle's will requested that she be buried next to her sister in the cemetery near Rose Grove Methodist Church. I found out she doesn't have much in the way of family—some cousins, I guess. But one of them's the youth minister of the Rose Grove Methodist Church. I got his number and told him I was a friend of Myrtle's and that I wanted to help pay for her funeral."

"I think that's nice," Mabel said. "I'll chip in!"

Dipper called both Stan and Ford. Altogether, the Pines family contributed a thousand dollars—which Mr. Michaels, the youth minister to whom Wendy had spoken, said would be more than enough to provide for a nice monument. They went a little bit further and arranged for flowers and made sure the local newspaper offered a kind and moving obituary.

"Wish we could go," Wendy said on Wednesday. "But it's tomorrow at eleven A.M. and Rose Grove is too far. We'd have to skip school and all."

"I think Myrtle would understand," Dipper said.

On campus they noticed the trucks parked outside Colby Hall—workmen, carpenters and electricians, already at work repairing the damage. They puzzled over what caused the destruction, but settled on "freak fire." Dipper learned that the girls on the top floor of the dorm would continue to be temporarily housed at the motel, not far off-campus. With luck, they could be back in the dorm by the end of the month.

At lunch, Eloise told them that Allie had indeed dropped out. Brandi was paired with a girl whose roommate had flunked out and had moved from the fourth floor to the second of Colby, so now she and Eloise were just down the hall from each other. "She's gonna need a lot of emotional support," Wendy said.

Eloise said, "We'll kind of support each other."

"You going to be OK?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah. Bad dreams last night, but they weren't paranormal. Just stress dreams, you know. No monsters." She shrugged. "Just stuff like one of my classes has changed classrooms, and nobody can tell me where it's meeting, and I'm super late and angsting over it."

"I get that one all the time," Dipper admitted. "With me, I'm back in high school and off at a track meet, but somehow the school our team is visiting has this gym that's like a labyrinth, and I get lost and can't find my way out to the track!"

"Meh," Wendy said. "Me, I just have nightmares about wrestling myself!"

Dipper had been through stressful paranormal eruptions before, and he bounced back reasonably fast, though all Wednesday he felt a vague disconnect, as if his classes really were in themselves a dream. Fortunately, he had no quizzes or conferences with teachers. At the end of the class day, Wendy drove home without him. He'd agreed to go to track tryouts at three that afternoon, though he had to admit that he was out of practice for sprinting. Wendy would come back for him at five, and they'd go from there.

Dipper dressed out for the tryouts in the gym, in the company of other hopefuls. That threw him right back into high school—the other guys were, to a man, taller and longer-legged than he was.

Not that he was particularly short, not any longer—Dipper had his full growth in, and he just shaved six feet without shoes. But the other guys topped that by an inch up to five inches. Some of them looked as though they'd be more at home on a basketball court than a running track.

One guy came over to him as they went out to the practice track and settled on the bleachers. "You're Pines, right?" the guy asked.

"Yeah," Dipper said, wondering where he'd met the other guy, a skinny, lanky African American dude.

"Yeah, thought so! I ran against you couple years ago. Name's Jerry Clayton. Coleridge High. You got hurt that day I think—fell?"

"Oh, right, I had a pretty hard fall," Dipper said. He didn't add that it was because an opposing runner—not Clayton—had bumped him deliberately. "I had to take six weeks off because I sprained my ankle pretty bad."

"Tough, man. Hey, I'm glad you're here! I'm nervous as crap."

"Join the club," Dipper said.

The coach introduced himself as Barnaby Ditterling—"Call me 'Coach' or 'Mr. Ditterling,' but if you once call me 'Barney,' you're cut!" That afternoon he was trying out sprinters for the 100, 200, and 400-meter dashes. "Let me explain the rules. Here you can compete in two events per meet. I'm looking for guys who can run one sprint, one other event. This week you just have to qualify for a sprint, though. Everybody up and let's stretch out, and then we'll do time trials."

Dipper tried out for all three dashes. In his group of six, he came in first in the hundred-meter, third in the two-hundred meter, and then—with a different assortment of runners for the other five spots—first in the four-hundred, surprising him because his strength had always been the shorter dash.

An assistant coach, a senior guy with a buzz cut, took information from him after the trials and said, "You took state high school championship for the hundred-meter, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Dipper said.

"Good job. In a week you'll be signing up for spring semester. I won't say now you've made the team, but I'll advise you—watch your schedule and don't have any classes after three P.M."

"OK," Dipper said.

He showered and changed and came out to find Wendy waiting with a grin. "Good job, man!"

"How did you know?" he asked her. "The results won't be posted until next Monday."

"Yeah, but I kinda hung around in the crowd and watched. You looked good out there, Dip."

"Well," he said, "we'll see." However, he had a good feeling about the day.

* * *

Mabel had the knack of throwing herself into the play, and during her rehearsals she managed to forget the events of the past weekend, at least for the time being. The director gave her the assignment of helping to train the other actors, who hadn't had much practice with puppets. Since the toughest part of the puppeteering was doing the singing, she did that by lining everyone else up and taking them through their songs.

The guy who had the worst problem was Alvy Quarrels, who was puppeteering Rod, the closeted gay character. Rod was a conservative Wall Street investment banker, impeccably dressed, bespectacled, and testy. His big number was "My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada," in which he—to stay in the closet—insisted that he had regular enthusiastic relationships with an imaginary girlfriend.

The trouble was that Alvy wasn't gay, but was, for an actor, introverted. He had a good baritone singing voice and his comic timing was on the money—but when he had to sing as Rod, he got embarrassed and red in the face and lost coordination. After one Friday session, Alvy said in frustration, "I think I gotta just quit! I can't get through the damn song!"

"You sing it great," Mabel pointed out. "You just get flustered."

"Yeah," Alvy agreed miserably. "Anything romantic. I mean. Oh, I'm a dweeb."

"Everyone's a little bit dweebish," Mabel sang, adapting one of the tunes in the show.

He chuckled weakly.

"OK, OK," Mabel said. "Let's toss away the script. Pretend that Kate here is a guy. Cross-dresser. So you suspect, and you want to flirt with, uh, call him Ken, and wind up by getting a kiss. Let's just role-play the puppets."

"I'm not sure that will help."

"Play along, Alvy, OK? If you can get through this role-play, you can get through the song. Remember, even though these are puppets, you're still an actor playing a role. What was your favorite role in high school?"

"Uh, I guess when I played Dromio of Syracuse. _Comedy of Errors._ "

"Yeah, I know that one. Shakespeare. The Dromio brothers are twins, right? The servant guys?"

"Right. The main characters are the Antipholus brothers, one from Syracuse, one from Ephesus. The Dromios are their servants. Now, the Antipholus brothers are twins, too, but they were separated at birth . . .."

He ran through a quick precis of the play. "Great," Mabel said. "Now, are you a twin?"

"Uh, no. Two older sisters—"

"Ah-hah! That explains your insecurity! You should've arranged to be the oldest sib. Big brothers are always self-confident. OK, anyhow, you weren't a twin, but you played one. Great. So you're not a guy puppet who secretly likes other guy puppets. No big deal! Just play one. Let's do our role-play. OK, Kate is Ken, and you think she's really a guy, but you aren't sure. My puppet is sitting on the bench in front of the library, where you've seen her every day. Come up and flirt!"

"Uh, hi—"

"No, no, don't do it wrong. Walk over there. Little farther. Now. Make your approach and check my puppet out. Try to decide."

Alvy did a good job. He made Rod stroll past, notice Kate, do a double take, and slow down. Then he turned and shyly approached. "Uh, hi."

Mabel, giving Kate an unusually low voice, said, "Oh. Hi, yourself."

"Nice day, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty great. I like sitting out here in the sun."

Alvy made Rod hesitate, looking so intimidated that Mabel had to laugh. "Uh," Rod said, "uh, well, uh—Mind if I share the bench?"

"No, there's plenty of room."

Both Mabel and Alvy were kneeling, to simulate their puppets sitting. "It's a really nice day."

Kate said, "Yes, really nice."

Rod: "Yes, sir, a beautiful day here on the old . . . the old campus."

Kate: "Yes, it is. Are you a student?"

Rod: "Me?"

Kate: "Yup."

Rod: "Yes, I'm a sophomore drama student. Uh, how about you?"

Kate: "I'm a freshman fine-arts major."

Rod: "What's your name?"

Kate: "What's yours?"

Rod: "Al—uh, I mean Rod. Rodney. Call me Rod."

Kate: "Well . . . you seem nice. Everyone calls me Kate, but—I have a secret."

Rod: "What is it?"

Kate: "You'll be upset with me. Forget it."

Rod: "No, you seem nice. Really, I won't be upset. Tell me, please."

Kate: "Well—I'm not really a girl. My name is Ken."

Rod: "Oh, well. That's fine. I don't mind that. You, uh, you like dressing . . .."

Kate: "I like dressing like a girl. Because inside I feel like a girl. People just don't understand."

Rod: "I see. That's . . . it's . . . Ken, I understand. I do."

Kate: "May I tell you another secret?"

Rod: "Sure. You can tell me anything."

Kate: "There's a reason I sit here every day at this time. It's because I noticed you a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to meet you, but—I was afraid—you'd—"

Rod: "Don't worry about it. I've been trying to get up my nerve to talk to you for days."

Kate: "Well. Now you have."

Rod: "Now I have. Uh. Ken, I'm on my way off-campus to get some lunch."

Kate: "Are you asking me out?"

Rod: "I guess I am."

Kate: "Do you like sushi?"

Rod: "I adore sushi!"

Kate: "My soul mate!"

Rod: "Kiss me, Ken!"

Mabel broke down laughing as the puppets went into a clench. "Perfect! You didn't mess up on the mouth movements once. Now—OK, nobody's at the piano. I can play keyboard, but I'm not so hot on the bass line. If I play the melody, how about singing 'My Girlfriend' for me?"

"I'll try."

Mabel's command of the melody was a little shaky, but she got through the song. Alvy stood a few feet away and went through the choreography for the number. When he got to the last line,where he'd been dropping to a soft register, he belted it out—the song ends with Rod's yelling out his eagerness to perform a sexual act with his non-existent Canadian girlfriend.

Mabel broke off her playing. "If you can do that for me, you can do it for an audience. Just remember to pace your hand movements to your mouth movements, and you've got it. And you're acting! You're not a gay puppet—you just play one!"

"Thanks," Alvy said. He bit his lip. "Uh, would you like to go out after rehearsal tonight and—"

Mabel smiled and held up her left hand. "Engaged, Alvy. But don't feel bad. You're a fun guy and a really good actor. There are girls in the cast who have their eye on you. One in particular."

"Oh. Who?"

Mabel said, "Gloria."

Alvy blinked. "You're kidding!"

"Nope."

"But she's so—I mean, she's out of my league!"

"Dummy!" Mabel said. "The gorgeous girls don't get hit on all that much. Every good prospect thinks a girl like Gloria's out of his league! And the ones who don't think that are all stuck-up and full of themselves." While Alvy absorbed that, Mabel added, "Tell you what. I'll suggest to Gloria that she and I stop off for some ice cream at Freezie's tonight after rehearsal. If she takes me up on it, when the time comes, I'll claim that I have to go home for some excuse. Then I'll say, 'Hey, Alvy loves ice cream! You And he go out for some. We'll all go next time!'"

"Do you think that would work?"

"I can practically guarantee it," said Mabel, Queen of the Matchmakers.

* * *


	31. Midterm and Later

**Zero Regrets**

_(October 2017)_

* * *

**31: Midterm and Later**

Autumn, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, had well and truly arrived by mid-October.

The week of midterms arrived and passed, and as usual, the next week followed. At Wendy's urging, she and Dipper picked up the pace on their daily runs—"Gotta get you in shape for the track season, dude!" Meanwhile, Mabel's excitement about the play mounted as she helped paint the sets that now stood on the main stage—"It's gonna look so great!"

Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel sweated out the midterm exams in all of their classes. They came out the far end with Dipper hanging onto a 4.0 or A average, but barely—college was harder than hi 2gh school, and he held onto that A literally by the grace of mathematics, since numerically his average worked out to 92.49, which fortunately rounded up to 93, the minimal A level. Wendy did better, a solid A with an average of 94, though instead of feeling envious, Dipper was proud of her.

Not one bit to her surprise, since the play was demanding a lot of her time, Mabel had to settle for a 3.6 GPA, which was a middling-high B at her school. "Eh, if I can hold on to that, I'm OK," she said, but she did continue to get in an hour a day of tutoring, almost always in math, from Dipper and Wendy.

Elsewhere . . . .

* * *

At the Agency headquarters in Washington, D.C, Ford held the semi-annual Directors Meeting from October 16-18. He rarely showed up in the Agency's technical HQ building, preferring to center most of the administrative functions in the West Coast center outside of Sacramento. Lorena went along, and the two planned some extra time for visiting museums and historic sites.

Ford found himself somewhat surprised but gratified to learn that the Agency's coffers were in excellent condition. Since it operated off the books—its Federal appropriations amounted to less than the amount set aside for the maintenance of the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia—most of its income flowed in from patents, recoveries (let's face it, exorcising ghosts often led to the discovery of treasure troves the ghosts had guarded) and consultancy fees, since the Agency lent its expertise to governments around the globe.

At any rate, the Agency's income had increased over the prior year's by about eight per cent, and it now held significant investments and a comfortable cushion for operations. As usual, the investigations over the past six months had discovered no paranormality in eighty per cent of the cases, annoyance-level disturbances in reality in fifteen per cent, and real threats in only five per cent. Hazard had filed a report on the Western Alliance haunting, and it fell into the severe threat category, justifying the fifty thousand dollar-plus expense of repairs and insurance payouts.

Trigger asked about a question of jurisdiction—after all, Hazard was heading up a brand-new office—but Ford quashed that easily: "The haunting was in California, granted, but I took a direct role and I wanted to work closely with Deputy Director Hazard to observe her methods. We'll waive the jurisdictional question for this one instance."

Because he had destroyed a suspected paranormal item—the Baphomet medallion—and because Agency rules require an account of that, Ford showed slides of the silver disk and gave its provenance: "We dated it to approximately 1250 CE, probably produced on the island of Malta. In itself it held no detectable energies, but it had been used to summon a Type 7-A paranormal entity, and prudence led to its disintegration. More about it is in the report."

The conference took place over Thursday, Friday, and Saturday morning. On Saturday, the Professor—the former head of the Agency, whose retirement had made room for Ford to take over—came in for a visit, since he lived nearby in Virginia. He received a warm welcome and then went on to have lunch with Stanford and Lorena. He told them he was enjoying retirement and was working on an academic book he'd long planned to write.

That left Saturday afternoon and Sunday for museum and sight-seeing time. The Kreeger, the Smithsonian American Art, and the National Art Gallery museums were on their itinerary, and though Ford wasn't an aficionado, Lorena found them entrancing, and her enjoyment pleased her husband.

"I wish we could stay another few days," she said on Sunday evening. They had return tickets to Portland the next morning.

"We'll come back anytime you wish," Stanford said. "However, it's imperative that we be back in Gravity Falls by Tuesday."

"Halloween," Lorena said. "I understand."

Oh, yeah. Summerween in Gravity Falls was iffy enough. Halloween could be hell on wheels.

* * *

Stanley and Sheila took some time off that same week. Stan went solo to Las Vegas for a couple of days, pulling off his usual coup of losing, losing, recouping and a bit and moving on to another casino, coming out several thousand ahead.

Then Sheila joined him in Portland, and they boarded the Coast Starlight train down to Los Angeles. They had a little bedroom on the train, enjoyed the scenic trip, and then spent three days in L.A. being tourists.

Which meant they did all the corny things—toured the homes of the movie stars, visited the La Brea Tar Pits, got tickets to be in the audience for a couple of TV shows, visited the Guggenheim Museum ("They'd do more business," Stan observed, "if they put in some slot machines."), they visited the Chinese Theater and stood in the footsteps of old-time movie stars, and they even made about six celebrity sightings, though to tell the truth, Stan recognized only two of them.

Then back up to San Francisco, and another three days of being tourists—the cold Bay boat tour around Alcatraz ("If we could go inside, I'd show ya the cell where I was incarcerated for three days before they found out they had the wrong guy all along"), shopped, trekked up and down the hills in Chinatown, they ate at all the interesting restaurants, enjoyed some chocolates in that place near the summit of the long, long hill along which cable cars trundled to and from the Bay, all the rest.

"This has been real nice," Stanley said as their vacation came to an end. "Did you enjoy it?"

"You know I did!" she said. "I got to spend so much time with you, and we didn't have to worry about ghosts or taking care of business in the Shack. Hey, how about taking a cruise for our next getaway?"

"Huh, I dunno. Sometimes cooped up with no way to escape, you know, I get kinda nervous."

"I'm sure we can find a cruise that includes an onboard casino."

"Oh, yeah!" Stan said, brightening. "Huh. Have to time it so I'd take the big haul like on the last day the casino was open, so's I wouldn't get banned. Yeah, I think I'd like that! How about next spring? Maybe a Caribbean cruise? Or to Hawaii and back?"

"That one," she said. "Cruise out, maybe a few days in the Islands. That would be heaven."

"Well," Stan said, kissing her, "you _are_ an angel!"

* * *

And the last week of October found _Avenue Q_ on the main stage of the Olmsted theater—to Mabel, the whole energy of the show seemed to pick up once they were actually on the stage where they would perform. Now they were no longer concentrating on scenes, but doing full run-throughs of the whole show, the lone piano and the prerecorded music giving way to the accompaniment of eight musicians.

Now they also had a projection screen on which some simple cartoony art pieces appeared to punctuate the live action. And at each run-through, a small gaggle of people, a dozen or so, sat in the dark, giving them a bare-bones audience that laughed and reacted.

With midterms behind, Mabel concentrated on her other self-imposed assignment. She visited the Western Alliance campus whenever she had time in the afternoons, meeting Eloise—the two got on great together—and scouting for likely boyfriends.

"I don't think you'll have any luck," Eloise told her one dreary afternoon, cloudy and dark without rain. "I sure as heck haven't."

"Yeah, I usually don't do this," Mabel said, taking out her phone, "but let's talk what qualities you're looking for."

More amused than serious, Eloise listed a few: Tolerant, willing to listen, not so credulous as to believe in every superstition out there, but not so skeptical as to sneer at the unknown, either, fun to be with, with more on his mind than being all grabby and pushy, and so on and so on.

"I think I should forget about chasing a guy and just let it happen. Or not happen," Eloise said.

"Fair enough," Mabel told her, saving the list she'd made, "but somewhere there's someone who's lonely and a perfect fit for you. It takes time, but be patient. I got two tickets for you when the show opens. If you want, I can try to fix you up with someone from Olmsted. Or if you've got a friend here on campus, that would be fine, too."

"We've got a little time," Eloise said. "Let's let it drift for now."

"OK. But I'm gonna keep my eyes open!"

One little thing came up. Halloween fell on Tuesday, and the Western Alliance Student Council was sponsoring a masquerade ball for that evening.

And, since they had been working hard and the show was in good shape, Mabel and the other _Avenue Q_ cast members had that night off, so they could attend.

Wendy and Dipper were planning to go. Mabel insisted they leave their costumes to her.

She even found a guy named Parker King, one of the musicians for the show (drums and xylophone) to blind-date Eloise. Parker, by all accounts, was a nice, quiet, shy guy who would be a reasonable dance partner, though probably not serious boyfriend material, but he was a start.

Mabel, of course, fully intended to attend the dance. Dipper scored two tickets for her, though she told him she would definitely not be bringing a date for herself—just one for Eloise.

Ah, if only Teek could be there.

"So what are you doing for Halloween?" Mabel asked him the Sunday evening before as they face-timed.

Teek, who looked a little thinner these days—he found film school exciting but demanding and admitted he'd been skimping on meals not because he was poor but because he stole time from lunch and dinner for studying or working on projects—said, "Nothing special. Just another school day."

"No dances?"

"Not that I've heard of. Anyway, I wouldn't go to one without you," Teek said, smiling. Then immediately he looked anxious. "I didn't mean you couldn't go to one if you wanted to—"

"Hey, if I do, I promise no slow dances with anybody," Mabel said. "I really, really miss you!"

"Yeah, me to. Man, if I could get home at the end of next week—but it's too close to Christmas break. I can't wait for Christmas."

Mabel bit back the surprise they had not yet sprung on him. Teek didn't know it, but he was going to receive airline tickets to let him come home for the week-long Thanksgiving break, see the show, enjoy the week, and then return to Atlanta.

"Me, either," she said. "Hey, did you get that midterm grade that was slow coming in?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "An A, I wasn't worried. Oh, I've got Production Techniques 1 and Fundamentals of Screenwriting for next semester! They're hard to schedule, but I picked up both of them."

And so it went. For both of them, fall was a mellow season, the time of rest between summer and holidays.

With luck, nothing would come down the pike to disrupt it.

* * *


	32. November Days

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 1-4, 2017)_

* * *

**32: November Days**

The dance was fine. Everyone had a great time—Mabel, Wendy, and Dipper were dressed as the Ghost Harassers, which pleased Dipper and surprised the other students—the show online had taken off and had gained an audience probably even larger than it had been back in the day when it was a network series. When Mabel let it slip that she, Dipper, and Wendy had worked in the place where the Ghost Harassers had found a ghost in a closet, they became minor celebrities for the evening.

Eloise didn't come in ghostly attire, but as Bubbles, the Vampire Staker, from an old TV show, and Parker King, the musician whom Mabel set up to be her blind date, agreed to let her bleach his hair and came as Spiky, the semi-reformed punk vampire from the same show. The costumes, made by Mabel herself, were impeccable, and about a third of the college students recognized them right away. It had been off the air for a while, though a good many of the young people had seen reruns.

Mabel attracted a lot of admirers, from mummies to Frankenstein monsters, from an unconvincing werewolf to someone who had obviously read Dipper's first novel in high school and who, thanks to some stuffed lawn-gnome toys, came as a stack of five Gnarls, ready to marry the Bride of the Zombie. Mabel couldn't resist dancing with him once. In the course of the dance, she broke her promise to Dipper, or at least bent it: "I know Stan Mason, you know, the guy who wrote the book you based your costume on."

"No way!"

"Yes, way!"

She had to embroider the story a little. "Yeah, he comes from a little town in, um, in central Oregon. He's kind of a relative of ours, and he's sort of a recluse. Hey, a TV show based on the books is coming out this summer, you know."

"I know! I read the book to my little sister—she's just three years younger than me, but she's dyslexic. Hey, do you think you could get Mr. Mason to autograph my books for my sister? That would help encourage her to keep plugging away at her reading—"

"Tut, tut, tut, it's already done. Uh, you can stop dancing, the music just ended."

"Oh, sorry."

"Come on, let's go outside and I'll get the details for your books."

They went out past the refreshment stand and at one of the outside tables, under the glare of mercury-vapor lights, they sat at a picnic table. Mabel took down the info on her phone: "Your sister's name is . . . "

"Judy. Judy Levinson. Um, I'm Jordan."

"L-E-V-E-N-S—"

"No, an I. L-e-v-i."

"Got it, sorry. Son with an O, not an E?"

"Right."

Mabel got his address—he must have been an upperclassman, because he lived off-campus—and learned he was a history major at Western Alliance. "OK, got it. I'll see if I can get in touch with him tomorrow. You want the books sent to you, but personalized for Judy, right?"

"Yeah, right. I can give them to her as a Christmas present! She's a junior in high school this year, but she still loves those books. Uh—I can give you the money—"

"Pshaw!" Mabel said.

"Uh—what?"

"Bosh and twaddle! I mean no, you don't have to pay a penny. I know Stan. He's real generous, and just knowing that his books help a girl who has difficulty reading will be payment enough. You're a sweet brother."

"Maybe we can see each other some time?"

"Actually, I don't go here. And also—note the engagement ring? My sweetie and I are doomed to college in different states, so I'm just here to have some fun. But you're a nice guy, and I'm sure you'll find a girl here who'll be happy to date you. In fact, there's a girl dressed as Bubbles, the Vampire Staker . . . ."

On November 1, a Wednesday, Mabel asked Dipper about the books. "Got 'em to spare?" she asked.

"Oh, sure. I guess he'd like the three hardcovers?"

"That would be great!"

That afternoon, Dipper picked the three best hardcovers—ones with dust jackets that had no tiny flaws or scratches. He hand-printed an inscription to Judy in each of them. "To Judy—I hope your imagination always takes you to great adventures!" That kind of inscription. Then he signed it with the special signature he had practiced for Stan Mason's autograph, a lot different from his normal handwriting—swashing S and M, very decorative.

Mabel wrapped the three books in a bundle and had Dipper write on the brown paper "For Jordon and Judy Levinson, care of Mabel Pines."

"Better do me a little Post-It note, too," she advised. "Like you bundled these yourself and then boxed them, and just indicate that I'm your cousin."

With a sigh, Dipper wrote the little note:

* * *

_Cousin Mabel—it was great to hear from you. Glad you like college. It's kind of you to want to do something nice for Judy Levinson, and I'll donate these three books. Come and see me next time you're in Oregon! Love, Cousin Stan_

* * *

"Hey," he said, as she stuck the note to the bundle, "this isn't the start of something between you and Jordan, is it?"

"Oh, I've got plans for Jordan!" she said. "He likes scary stories and tales about ghosts and stuff, so he's gonna have a date with Eloise!"

"When?" Wendy asked.

"I haven't decided yet. Don't say anything to her because she doesn't know yet. Gotta go to rehearsal! I'm gonna put the books in my car, and tomorrow afternoon I'm gonna call Jordan and meet him somewheres on the WAU campus. He'll be thrilled. See ya!"

* * *

Beginning that week, Dipper went to the track on campus three days a week for sprinting practice. Figuring that he could be in good shape for the hundred- and two hundred-meter events if he was good in the four-hundred-meter dash, that's what he practiced for. His finish times were respectable—not stellar, but good—and he determined to improve.

* * *

That weekend the dorm repair was finally finished. Dipper and Wendy went to look at the refurbished fourth floor of Colby Residence Hall. Rooms 439 and 440 no longer existed. The space where they once were had been changed into a widened portion of the hall, with a couple of study carrels and a sofa in each one—they were now designated study spaces. The janitor's room still existed, though now it had a more complex lock.

"Probably take Mabel a hairpin and fifteen minutes to get in now," Wendy observed.

"How did they get away with losing two rooms?" Dipper asked. "The dorm was full!"

"Betcha that they've had some attrition," Wendy said. "At least four of the girls in this dorm must've flunked out, or got homesick or something, after mid-terms. I think it's for the best that they took the rooms out. I mean, Grunkle Ford says that without the magic circle there's no more chance of something breaking through, but—like you say, why tempt the fates?"

Why, indeed.

* * *

Halloween in Georgia had been clear, warm-ish, and humid. Teek had not gone to the Halloween party sponsored by the senior class. No matter, he had a better time face-timing with Mabel, though he stayed awake longer than normal for that—when she called him at ten-thirty her time, it was half past one A.M. on November 1 in Georgia—and he laughed when she sent him photos of the Ghost Harassers, Gravity Falls edition.

He had become a member of the FVC—the Film and Video Club—and already had become a de facto part of the selection committee. The FVC sponsored a weekly movie program, beginning at seven on Friday nights, usually including a double feature and an assortment of short subjects.

One of the features was always a classic film—it had to have been produced before 1990 and had to meet critical standards—the other was more contemporary. The short films ranged from classic cartoons, Mickey and Bugs and so on, to historic newsreels, prize-winning student films, that kind of thing.

For most of the students, the film evenings were social events, time to sit in the dark with a special guy or girl, to be entertained, to enjoy each other's company. Some came, evidently, to cultivate a superior attitude that would allow them to look down on others' work: "The Chaplin credo is all very well if one enjoys mere acrobatics and sticky sentimentality, but—" or "Really, _Citizen Kane_ is less a film than an example of character assassination." That kind of thing.

Others, already in classes that allowed them to write and produce their own student films, frankly were on the lookout for techniques they could steal and use in their own work—What's that strange framing called? Oh, that's a Dutch angle. Why is the dialogue in an Altman film so hard to follow? That's because he likes crosstalk, with the actors speaking over each other's lines. What's that trope called where the guy makes up a story using the objects he sees around him as the names of the people?

Teek didn't fit into those categories. Instead, as the projectionist (though everything was digital), he watched each movie twice—once during the show, and then before packing everything up the next afternoon, again, with himself as the only audience. The first time through, he opened his feelings and thoughts to the film. Sometimes they were more involving than other times, but he always let the movie affect him.

And especially when the movies were very effective at that—when Teek found himself moved to laughter or sadness, or when the film raised a point that made him ponder, the second time through, Teek asked himself "How did the movie make me feel and think?" and "What about the movie got through to me, and why?"

He'd always loved films. Teek realized that his feeling for them was changing. Now he was discovering their secrets, their construction, their little tricks and techniques. And . . . it hurt a little.

He was losing something—the freshness of a fan's love for a medium. At the same time, he was gaining something—understanding of how films were constructed and why the best of them were the best.

Geeze Louise, he thought—an expression of his mother's—I'm getting all mature.

Fortunately, Teek was a modest guy. He always had been.

And anyway, he didn't like to run down somebody else's work. Even when he saw a film that he didn't care for, he never scoffed at them or belittled the actors or directors. After all, other people liked those films, and they had the right. And if other students thought the films he liked were not all that, again, they had the right. He could live with that.

And inside he felt a growing eagerness to get into the hands-on process of filmmaking. He already had an idea for a project in his introductory scriptwriting class, which wouldn't even begin until January.

Most of all, he really, really wanted to see Mabel again. Face-timing was one thing, but it was nothing like sitting close to Mabel, holding hands with her, now and then kissing her, hearing her enthusiastic reactions to his explanations of what he thought and felt about movies.

Heck, he didn't even require that she listen to his movie talk.

He didn't even require that they talk at all.

Because while he and Mabel didn't have the peculiar gift that Wendy and Dipper had—when they touched, they could not read each other's minds—for them touch had its own sweet messages.

Teek was looking ahead to Christmas break, when he would see her again. But, dang, a whole month. A whole freaking month. If he could have one wish, just one, it wouldn't be for fame and fortune.

It would just be to see Mabel in person before December.

Little did he know. Heh-heh.

* * *


	33. Places, People!

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 2017)_

* * *

**33: Places, People!**

November 6 and 7, a Monday and Tuesday, were set aside for two full-dress rehearsals of _Avenue Q._ The Friday before that, Dr. Mayberry had given notes to the assembled cast. They were mostly positive—Christmas Eve had to pick up cues a little more quickly, Drew, who was Trekkie Monster's right hand—it was a complicated puppet and took two people to manipulate it, one voicing and being the left hand and the mouth, the other being the right hand—had a habit of standing a little too far upstage and was cautioned to hit his mark so the puppet would be properly oriented to the audience.

But the rest, for the most part, was positive. "You've put in a lot of hard work, and we've got a good, tight, funny show. Now, we're full-dress for Monday and Tuesday. I want us to have at least a token audience both nights. Cast and crew, line up and count off by twos. Mabel, start us."

Mabel, standing far stage right, yelled, "One!"

Drew, next to her, said, "Two!"

And so on down the line. Counting actors and crew members, they had thirty-four people. "Here's your assignment for Monday," Dr. Mayberry said. "I want all you ones to invite four guests to come on Monday for free. You twos, same thing for Tuesday night. If any of you have six friends you'd like to invite, that's fine. That will give us a respectable, though small, audience for both nights. OK, when you've got an audience, they're going to laugh. I want us to hold for laughter. When you sense it's waning, then take up the next line, but don't kill the laugh by coming in too soon."

Mabel, of course, invited Dipper and Wendy, Eloise, two students from her classes that she liked—Kurt Rettlen and Beth Wilgard. She also asked Eloise if she'd like to bring a guy, and Eloise said she had someone in mind and would let her know by Monday afternoon. "No tickets," she said. "Just tell 'em at the door that you're Mabel Pines's guest. Cable Theater, be there at 7:15, show starts at 7:30."

That weekend, Mabel constantly sang her songs to Dipper, Wendy, and Tripper. She briefly considered having Dipper and Wendy sneak Tripper into the theater—"He's a smart dog, he deserves some culture"—but when Dipper looked at her student handbook and discovered that no animals other than certified service dogs were allowed on campus.

"That's OK," Wendy said. "He'll be able to stay and guard the house while we're all out."

Eloise did make a date with Clint Ansen, who was in one of her classes and who confessed he'd been a huge fan of _Sesame Street_ when he was a kid—and that he had a set of DVDs of that show that he still enjoyed watching. Dipper and Wendy arranged to pick them up at the WAU campus and drive them over to Olmsted for the performance.

They actually met them early and had a light dinner at the Chart Room, a local restaurant that offered a varied menu. Then on to Olmsted.

Cable Hall was a roomy building, obviously a theater. They entered through an archway beneath sculpted representations of the masks of Comedy and Tragedy. A broad lobby had corridors off to the left and right leading to teachers' offices and classrooms, but a second archway straight ahead led to the entrances to the actual theater. Curtained doorways to the left and right led into the auditorium, and a couple of theater students stood at each one to greet the audience and give them programs.

"Sit anywhere," the young lady told Dipper, Wendy, Eloise, and Clint. "We encourage you to sit down front, just pick out good seats."

They found good ones three rows back from the stage on the center aisle, stage left. More people came in, a total of sixty or seventy—about a quarter of what the theater could hold. The people chatted in a constant murmur for about a quarter of an hour, and then the house lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on the red curtain, and Dr. Mayberry came out with a cordless microphone.

"Good evening!" she said. Silence.

"Come on, be polite! Try it again. Good evening!"

This time the audience called out "Good evening!" in response.

"Much better! Welcome to our first full-dress rehearsal. My name is Jean Mayberry, I'm a drama professor here at Olmsted, and I've had the fun of directing this production of _Avenue Q._ We'll be running straight through, just like at a full performance. Normally we'll have one twenty-minute intermission between acts, but tonight since the bathrooms won't be crowded, we'll cut that down to ten minutes. Don't be afraid to laugh, to applaud, and please enjoy this unique musical. Thank you!"

She left the stage, the lights went fully down, and then the curtain rose and a projection screen showed a cartoony smiling sun. The musicians struck up, the first song began, and the show was on.

Wendy and Dipper held hands. By then, they knew a lot about the show by Mabel osmosis, but they both enjoyed it. The intro music led into the entrance of Princeton, spotlighted on stage left, a puppet representing a young man wearing a graduation robe and mortarboard cap and clutching a rolled-up diploma. His song plaintively asked, "What can you do with a B.A. in English?" He felt he was underequipped with a useless degree, but still expressed his determination to make a difference to the human race.

That led to a blackout, and then the stage lights came up on the set, representing a group of dilapidated buildings on Avenue Q, in an outer-outer borough of New York City.

"Good job on the set," Wendy murmured.

"There's Mabel!"

Kate Monster, a cute, pert puppet, met the human character Brian, an aspiring—but so far failing—stand-up comedian. He lamented the sorry state of his life in "It Sucks to Be Me," Kate challenged that with her own sucky life, Mabel enthusiastically dropped an F-bomb that could have wiped out a major city, and soon the other puppets appeared—Nicky and Rod, the two roommates, Nicky goofy and easy-going, Rod serious and uptight, complaining about each other. Then Brian's live-in girlfriend, Christmas Eve, another human character, came on to complain about her own case—after a lot of hard work, she'd earned two master's degrees in social work and was a therapist with no clients, and she, too, thought it sucked to be her.

Princeton interrupted, explaining that he was looking for an affordable place to say and so far had searched Avenues A through P inclusive, but everything was too expensive. Fortunately, a "Room for Rent" sign on one of the run-down buildings gave him hope. Brian and Christmas called the superintendent—Gary Coleman, a guy, but played by Dally Lombard with a large helping of sass—and Princeton got the room and the plot, such as it was, had launched.

The puppeteers made no effort to hide. Each one dressed in head-to-foot black, but they emoted right along with their puppets, emphasizing the emotions of the characters. Before long, Dipper found that hew as accepting the puppets as characters in their on rights, just as real—in their way—as the human characters. He started to be involved with them and so did Wendy. He could feel her appreciation for Kate's blossoming romantic interest in Princeton when she sang about his making her a playlist of songs, and she—and Dipper—got a little misty about young love.

Most of the action and dialogue, though, was pure comedy. The audience reacted with laughter and applause. Dipper noticed only one hiccup. At one point, Kate, a kindergarten teaching assistant, gets her first opportunity to teach a lesson all by herself. She decides to teach a lesson about the internet.

Mabel began to sing about how great the internet was—and then she paused. Nothing happened. The musicians stopped playing and the tune died.

After a beat, Mabel, through the puppet, said to the audience, "Yeah, the internet. Sure, these kids are only in kindergarten, but so what! You're never too young to learn about all the wonderful things you can learn by searching on the internet. How to make paper airplanes! How penguins survive the cold! Where great big dinosaur fossils can be found!"

Then the musicians struck up again, and Mabel repeated her line, singing "The internet is really, really great," and immediately Trekkie Monster appeared at an upper window and yelled, "For porn!"

From there on the slightly bawdy song went on properly. The rest of the show—irresponsible behavior and repercussions, romantic disappointment and rebound, regret and reconciliation, and hope for a better future—played out to an appreciative, though small, crowd.

At the end, the actors came on stage and took their bows to enthusiastic applause.

Dr. Mayberry walked out from the wings and said, "Thank you so much! If you liked this, tell your friends to come. Our regular performances begin Wednesday night—plenty of tickets are still available. The box office number and web site are on your programs, so help us spread the word. For those of you waiting, I'm going to have a few notes backstage for our puppeteers, so you're welcome to remain here. Give us ten minutes!"

The four of them waited for Mabel, and she appeared in a little over the promised ten minutes, still wearing theatrical makeup and her puppeteering outfit—black leotard and long-sleeved black tee shirt. "Whoosh!" she said. "We got through it!"

People waiting for other actors called out, "Great job!" and other compliments, and Mabel took an exaggerated bow and thanked them.

They walked her to Helen Wheels. "I know, I know," she said. "You want to know how come we screwed up on the internet song. I was so embarrassed!"

"I didn't notice anything," Clint said.

Eloise took the opportunity of introducing him to Mabel. "Aw," she said, "when you see Trekkie up in the window, the two puppeteers have to be up on a scaffold. Drew does Trekkie's left hand, and slipped and got his ankle caught in the scaffold. It took him a little time to get out of it—he had to take off his shoe, you might have noticed he was barefoot when they came out on stage the first time."

"No," Wendy said.

"Neither did I," Dipper said. "Or I did, but I thought it was just part of the show."

"Well, anyhow, they didn't get the puppet to the window and missed their cue. They'll be practicing that before the next performance. Uh—the, uh, the sex scene-?"

"It was hilarious!" Eloise said.

"Really funny," Clint agreed. "Especially when they started switching positions!"

"Not . . . too much?" Mabel asked.

Dipper said, "It was kind of edgy, but that's probably because you're my sister. No, it's part of the show! And yes, it's really funny. But Mabel, do me a favor—in real life, promise me you won't drink too many Long Island iced teas!"

"I don't think I could," she said. "Well—too late to just stand around here." She hugged Eloise. "Thank you guys so much for coming! Please tell people at WAU to come to the show. Having a good audience made all the difference!"

Wendy and Dipper dropped Eloise and Clint off at their dorms, and then they drove back to the house. Helen Wheels was already parked in the garage, so—as usual—Dipper parked on the apron out front of the garage, and he and Wendy went inside.

Mabel came from her room, wearing a robe over pajamas. She had removed the stage makeup and presumably had showered. "Really and truly," she said, "did you guys think I did OK?"

"You did great!" Wendy insisted. "Acting and singing both."

"Dipper, do you think Mom and Dad are gonna be upset? Is it too sexy?"

"Personally," Dipper said, "I think Mom will be so relieved that you're not playing Lucy the Slut that she'll laugh her head off. Dad and Mom aren't all that prudish, Mabel. And the night they'll see the play, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford will be sitting with them. I know Stan will enjoy it and laugh his head off. That'll keep Mom and Dad laughing along."

"I hope so," Mabel said. "Well, anyhow, they'll see the last performance, so I won't have to worry about them disapproving and making me all self-conscious and all. You guys willing to come back?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Dipper said. "In fact, we may buy tickets for Friday and Saturday night both."

"Yeah, we're worried about that last Saturday," Mabel admitted. "Since Thanksgiving break starts on Monday, lots of people are gonna be off-campus by then. But Friday may fill up, so make the reservations early."

Wendy yawned. "Well, Dip and me better turn in. You've got an early start tomorrow, too."

"I don't know if I can get to sleep right away," Mabel said. "You get real pumped up doing a show—all that adrenaline, you know. It takes a little while to run down. I guess I can go read in my political science book. Checks and balances may make me feel sleepy."

"Goodnight, Sis," Dipper said. "And really and truly—you did great. If you guys keep it up, you'll have huge audiences coming in just from word of mouth."

"Oh, are the posters up on your campus?"

"On every bulletin board in the Student Center," Wendy said. "And there's one on the big Events board in the library."

"And we'll talk it up," Dipper promised.

When she was alone in the living room, Mabel switched on a lamp, sank onto the sofa with her PolySci textbook, and let Tripper hop up beside her. "I wish you could've been there," she said. "I know you'd like all the puppets."

"Woof," Tripper agreed.

* * *


	34. End of Run, Beginning of ?

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 15-18, 2017)_

* * *

**34: End of Run, Beginning of ?**

The second week of Olmsted's run of _Avenue Q_ became _the_ social event in Crescent City. First, the students who had seen it loved the show, talked it up, and persuaded their friends to reserve tickets for that last set of shows; second, word spread even beyond the campus, and townies crowded in to see what the hilarious show was all about; third, the parents and other relatives of the performers came in significant numbers that week; and maybe most important of all, a contingent of frowning, indignant, concerned citizens picketed the building beginning on Wednesday, waving signs hand-lettered with dire warnings.

_PUPPETS=DAMNATION!_

_THIS THEATER IS IMMORAL!_

_SEEING AVE Q WILL DAMN U!_

A local TV show interviewed a few of the picketers the first evening, and the segment aired Thursday morning. "Excuse me, Ma'am, can you tell me why you're protesting this production?"

"Immoral! No people should see puppets! Children, think of them! Evil, evil, evil! Corruption and temptation! Children!"

The other picketing commenters were somewhat less coherent. On the other hand, Mabel even got to have a word on camera to defend the production: "Mabel Pines here, actress and puppeteer. Listen, everybody, this show is about poor troubled people, confusing relationships, urban blight, and despair. It's a total feel-good load of laughs! Don't just believe it's bad because of these people with the signs. Come and see for yourselves!"

The first week had played to big houses. The second week was completely sold out. Fortunately, Dipper and Wendy had long since reserved and paid for seats for both Grunkles and both Graunties, Mr. and Mrs. Pines, and (top secret) Teek. The run would end on Saturday, so just to be sure no one missed the show, they'd settled on Friday as Pines Family Day at the theater. That required some extra planning, but Dipper was all over the planning. All Mabel knew was that the family should be in attendance Friday night, and that was all Dipper and Wendy wanted her to know.

Stan, Ford, and their wives showed up Friday morning and checked into the motel. Alex and Wanda Pines were on their way and would be in by afternoon. On Wednesday, Dipper saw his teacher about missing class on Friday—it was a unit quiz, and since he was already carrying an A average and his teacher had a younger sister, he requested to take the quiz Thursday afternoon, in the WAU library Testing Center.

The professor opened the grade book on a computer and studied it. "You have an A average already. Hm. And Miss Corduroy is actually your wife, correct?"

"Yes. But I swear I won't tell her anything—"

"She's doing very well, too. Why not have her come in with you and both take the quiz at the same time?"

"—or anybody wait, what? Really?"

His professor grinned. "Really. She's—don't tell her this—my top student this term. And since this is for your sister, I'll bend a rule. I suppose you want the time to leave early for Thanksgiving?"

Dipper shook his head. "Um, no, but it _is_ a family thing. My sister's a student at Olmsted, and she's in the play, all of our folks are coming in to see her, and most of all, to surprise her, we're secretly flying her boyfriend in from out of state—"

The professor tapped on the keyboard. "The Testing Center can accommodate you both this afternoon right after class, at two. Present your student IDs at the reference desk and they'll set you up."

Easy-peasy. Wendy was agreeable to taking the test early, they showed up at the library, and were assigned to two small testing rooms, and in thirty minutes both had finished a quiz designed to last fifty minutes. "What did you think?" Wendy asked with a grin. She had actually turned in her quiz a couple of minutes before he'd turned his in.

"I think I scored a hundred," Dipper said. "Really easier than I expected. Maybe it was just a way to send the students off to Thanksgiving break feeling good."

Because of that, on Friday they were all done with classes at noon. They had driven Wendy's Dodge Dart in that day, and they stowed their backpacks in the trunk, climbed in, and set off for the long drive to Medford, more than two hours away. Even at that, it was still the nearest airport that had service to and from Atlanta. After Thanksgiving in Gravity Falls, though, he would fly back out of Portland.

Teek had to cut his Friday classes to make the trip, but, like Dipper, he was conscientious and let his professors know ahead of time. He was in good shape academically and had no absences, so they didn't seriously object. For him, the problem was timing—he'd had to leave Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta at eleven, Eastern time, for a nearly eight-hour flight to California.

The drive to Medford was over a hundred miles, via US-199, and it led through mountainous terrain and over Grant's Pass. Traffic wasn't particularly heavy, and they arrived at the small airport a few minutes before three PM. "Great timing!" Dipper said as he checked the arrivals board. Teek's flight had just taxied in at the gate, and in another few minutes they saw him emerge, backpack on and trundling a suitcase, his black hair longer than it had been and messy, and overall, he looked bleary and sleepy-eyed.

"Over here, dude!" Wendy called, waving.

He grinned and hurried over, stood his suitcase up—it fell over, and Dipper caught it—and hugged Wendy. "Thank you guys so much!" he said. "I owe you big time. I was dreading sitting around in the dorm all by myself for Thanksgiving week!"

Then Teek, to Dipper's surprise, hugged him, too. He wasn't ordinarily a huggy guy. "You going to be able to hold up for the show tonight?" Dipper asked him.

"Yeah, I'll nap in the car. How far is it?"

"'Bout a hundred and ten miles," Wendy said. "Didja bring, you know—it?"

"In my pocket. Can you hide me from Mabel?"

"No problem," Dipper said, pulling his suitcase. "Come on, we're parked out front here. Mabel's not coming home for dinner tonight, because she's doing some puppet repair work this afternoon."

"What time is it?" Teek asked, adjusting his specs to look at his watch. "I've got six-thirty."

"Three-thirty, Teek," Dipper said. "Set your watch back. Show's tonight at seven-thirty, so grab what sleep you can in the car."

There was room in the Green Machine's trunk for Teek's luggage, and Wendy took out the two emergency blankets she always carried back there. Teek got in the back seat and cushioned himself with the folded blankets. "Remind me," he said in a sleepy voice, "to put in my contacts. My glasses aren't the right—" _yawn_ —"prescription for me anymore."

"Want me to drive?" Dipper asked Wendy.

"I got it, thanks. I'll keep the radio off, since Teek needs to snooze."

And snooze he did, deeply and snoring just a little. Wendy parked in the garage, and when they got out, she said, "I almost hate to wake the poor guy."

"We have to have some dinner and then take off for the show," Dipper told him. It was already close to six.

So they woke Teek, he took a very short shower—and petted Tripper, who was delirious to see his and Mabel's old buddy again—while Wendy and Dipper changed clothes. Dipper called his mom and dad, found out that she, Stan, and Ford and their wives were having dinner near the Olmsted campus, and arranged to meet them all at the theater.

Teek, looking fresher in a jacket and tie, with his hair combed, and without his big round specs, kept thanking them. "You didn't hint to Mabes, did you?" Wendy asked, nearly teasing, as they got into Dipper's car for the trip in.

"Hardest thing I've ever done!" Teek said. "We face-time every night, and ever since Monday, I've had to act really sad. She says, 'I wish you could see the show,' and I'm all 'I wish I could, so bad.'"

Because of the press of time, they had a fast-food meal at a burger place, burgers inferior to the ones Teek made at the Shack. Whatever, it was food and would hold them.

On campus, they had to cross the picket line—Mabel had warned Dipper about the protesters, though, so they weren't surprised. Inside, Stan saw them first and waved them over. Hugs all around, and a weepy Wanda Pines held both of Wendy's hands and said, "I'm going to admit it. I was wrong. Marriage agrees with you. You both look so good!"

And Alex had to have his hug and plant a kiss on Wendy's cheek, and tenderly, he asked her, "How's the Dart driving?" Fond family moment.

They had good seats, though not as near the stage as before, the nine of them taking up half of the right-center Row G. As Dipper had expected, Mabel peeked out at the audience and waved to them—but she didn't see Teek, because Dipper had warned him not to take his seat—they'd saved him the one on the aisle—until the house lights went down.

Teek came in and sat in the darkened house as on the stage, Dr. Mayberry made her curtain speech, then the music struck up, the curtain rose, and the show was underway.

Wendy held Dipper's hand. _Dip, am I mistaken, or is Mabel even more upbeat than the first time?_

— _Yeah, she saw us and she's up because of that._

Mabel's performance of the Kate puppet was energetic and engaging and hopelessly appealing. In the "Sucks to be Me" number, her dropping of the F-bomb hit, and the audience shrieked with surprised laughter. Even Wanda, after a quick intake of breath, joined in.

And from then on, the laughter rarely dropped. Rod's "My Girlfriend who Lives in Canada" got screams. The Bad Idea Bears were a lot of fun. Though Kate's and Princeton's drunken sex scene made Wanda shake her head, it was so over the top that even she couldn't help laughing.

And though it was a puppet show, the cast made the audience feel sympathetic, too. Kate Monster's disappointment when she thought Princeton had dumped her—"There's a Fine, Fine Line"—elicited compassionate "aws" from scattered members of the audience. When Gary Coleman and the others collected money to help Kate start a Monsterssori School for young monsters, they actually passed the hat in the audience, and then "Gary" said they had collected nothing but "a meal ticket for the Olmsted Cafeteria, and I'm keeping that!"

Fortunately, a surprise donor contributed enough cash to make the school possible, thanks to his wise investments. And lovers were reconciled and reunited, and the last hopeful song began.

Very quietly, Dr. Mayberry came down the aisle to Teek's elbow and bent over. "Teek, right? Come with me."

The puppeteers took bows to a standing ovation, and when that died down, Dr. Mayberry walked onstage and said, "Everyone please sit down again, just for a moment. Cast, stay in place!"

To the sounds of surprised murmuring, they all did.

Then Dr. Mayberry announced, "Kate Monster was performed by Olmsted freshman Mabel Pines. And we have a special presentation just for her."

"What?" Mabel asked, looking delighted but a little scared.

And then Teek walked on. "Hi," he said.

Mabel squee'd and jumped on him and kissed him. "He's my BOYFRIEND!" she announced at the top of her lungs, laughing and crying. "I haven't seen him in months! Teek, what are you doing?"

He was kneeling. He held up a little jewelry box, open. "Mabel," he said, "will you—"

"YES!"

And that called for a passionate kiss, accompanied by yet another standing ovation.


	35. Strike Day

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 18-19, 2017)_

* * *

**35: Strike Day**

"Let's all go home," Dipper said for maybe the fourth time.

Friday's performance ended at a quarter to ten, and now it was a quarter after, and the whole crowd stood out in the parking lot, and Mabel could _not_ stop talking.

Grunkle Ford said, "Perhaps that—"

"Oh, my gosh!" Mabel said. "I thought I was seeing things when you walked out on stage, Teek! When Dr. Mayberry said there was something special and called my name, I thought she was cutting me from the play! Before the last performance! Can you come? You gotta come! It's sold out. I'll get you backstage! Everybody's gotta meet you! Wait, we have strike after the show. We have to take down the set. Wait, you can help! It takes like four hours. Do you mind? Of course you don't! Did you guys hear how I went flat on that note in 'There's a Fine, Fine Line?' I was thinking then about how much I missed Teek! And I didn't suspect he was right out there listening as I was missing him! Just like Kate's missing Princeton—"

Wendy, the only one among them with the guts to do it, clapped her hand over Mabel's mouth, reducing the flow to "Mphf brff g'mmph frmbtyy wha?"

"Listen!" Wendy said. "The campus cops're gonna roust us at any minute! Give Teek your keys, show him where you parked, and let him drive you to the house! You navigate, which means you don't talk except to tell him where to turn and which way. We got some refreshments at home, and you can finish telling us there."

Grunkles and Graunties went in Ford's Lincoln, Mr. and Mrs. Pines took her RAV4, Dipper and Wendy drove the Land Runner, and Mabel, still spouting words, led Teek to Helen Wheels. Dipper and Wendy served decaf and petits-fours—they had found a wonderful little bakery/coffee shop not far off campus and hand stocked up there—along with a homemade apple pie.

By eleven-thirty, Mabel had finally wound down enough for Mr. and Mrs. Pines to tell her they had actually enjoyed the show. "Even the language," Wanda said. "But I hope that will be just for the stage, Mabel!"

"Oh, yeah, I worried big time about that, especially the f-word in "Sucks to Be Me," Mabel said. "But, yeah, it's what Kate would say, so, you know—acting! Teek, you haven't told me how you got here!" She punched his arm.

"Ow," he said. "That's because I can't get a word in. Wendy and Dipper bought me tickets—I flew to Medford—what's the valley name? I forgot."

"The Medford/Rogue Valley International Airport," Dipper said.

"Right, that's it. It was a Delta flight. I guess almost any flight out of Atlanta is a Delta flight. I had an hour stopover in Salt Lake City, and then changed planes for the flight to California."

"How long did it take?" Stan asked.

"It was close to eight hours."

Stan elbowed his brother. "Poindexter, you shoulda sent one of the Guys in Black jets to pick him up and fly him straight here!"

"I would be hard-pressed to hide that in the annual audit," Ford said.

"Not if you let me cook your books a little, you wouldn't! Hah! I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

"Uh, Mr. and Mrs. Pines," Teek said, "I wanted to ask your blessing, but—it was a little chaotic before we got seated, and then—"

"Of course you have our blessing," Alex said.

"Both of you," Wanda confirmed. "We hope you'll be very happy together."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough!" Mabel crowed. Then, like Stan, she said, "Kidding!"

At midnight, the adults said their goodbyes. They planned to leave the next morning, Saturday, for the drive up to Gravity Falls. "They're stayin' at Ford's house," Stanley told Dipper and Mabel. "We flipped for it, but he wouldn't use my double-headed quarter, the cheat, so he won. You knuckleheads call us soon as you're back in town—I guess Sunday?"

"We'll sleep in on Sunday morning," Dipper said. "Mabel and Teek, I guess, will come in late tomorrow night after taking down the set—"

"Strike!" Mabel corrected.

"Whatever. So they'll need some rest tonight, too, and we'll all probably haul out of here around ten or eleven on Sunday morning. We'll call when we leave."

Stan hugged Mabel. "You did good, Sweetie. Real funny, and you sang great, too. Loved it!"

After the others had all left, the house seemed too quiet and strangely too small. "I'm just gonna stack the dishes tonight," Wendy said. "Dip and I will get up whenever tomorrow morning and do our run. We'll try not to wake you guys up."

Dipper brought out a pillow, sheets, and a blanket. "The sofa's not bad," he said. "The half-bathroom's right down the hall there, the one leading out to the garage. If you need anything, help yourself."

"Hey, guys?" Mabel asked tentatively. "Could I ask a favor? I mean, God, I know you did a favor already, bringing Teek out and all so he could propose to me right on stage in front of everybody, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"What favor?" Dipper asked.

"Uh, would you mind if Tripper slept in your room tonight? He likes to snuggle a little, but then he'll go right down to the foot of the bed and not bother you at all. I, uh, I just want to, um, stay up a little more and catch up with Teek, and—and—he's a growing doggy and needs his, uh. Sleep."

"That'll be fine," Wendy said. "Hey, Mabes, remember I got some toiletries and stuff for Teek. They're in the top drawer of your bathroom vanity."

Mabel turned red. "Oh, yeah. Thank you!"

"Come on, Tripper," Mabel said.

Tripper trotted along, but before going into the master bedroom, he turned and looked back at Mabel, and if she didn't know better, she could have sworn he winked at her.

* * *

Dipper and Wendy were determined to be discreet, but a puppy's kidneys are a kind of alarm clock, and at six A.M. Wendy got up to let him out for his morning routine. She brought his bowl of dry food and his water bowl back into the bedroom, though, and as he was munching away, she slipped back into bed beside Dipper. "Kinda foggy out this morning," she said.

"Mm?" he asked, stroking her soft bare thigh.

_Don't think Teek slept on the sofa. He's not there and the bedding's still folded._

— _Oh. Well. We thought that might happen. Did, um—_

_Mabel's fully equipped for whatever might have happened._

— _But we're not going to ask what happened._

_Nope. I'd be surprised if we didn't find out anyway, sooner or later. Mabel's sure to talk about it._

— _So. I guess we ought to stay in bed until we hear them up and moving._

_It's been a week! I could stand a little relaxation, so yeah, let's just laze in bed._

— _Want to go back to sleep?_

 _Nah, I'm already up._ Wendy stroked his chest and then her hand closed. _Mm, and so are you. Let's see how wild we can get—that's very nice, Dipper, ooh, yeah, little lower, yeah. Let's see how wild we can get and still keep it quiet._

It was a struggle, but a delightful one.

* * *

The walnut and pecan trees down at the far end of the back yard had produced a nice crop of nuts, and all through October they had harvested them as they ripened. Dipper had discovered a set of telescoping rods with hooks on the end stored in the basement, and he'd learned online that they were for shaking nuts loose. He and Wendy had gone down every three or four days and after the first attempt, when they bombarded themselves with the crop, they'd learned how to spot the ones ready to be shaken loose.

The walnuts were in a fibrous outer hull, the pecans in a thinner, leathery coat. These had to be removed and then the nuts had to be dried. They spread them out on the concrete pad beneath the deck for that, and when the squirrels raided the harvest, they improvised a wire mesh that kept most of the nuts for themselves, though Mabel—who preferred to climb up in the trees and precariously shake the branches by standing on one, holding onto another and doing knee bends—always left a little pile of them for her furry friends (who also happened to be Tripper's arch-enemies, but whatever).

Anyway, the last gathering of nuts had come in about the second week of November, and now Dipper and Wendy had bagged them in burlap, twelve pounds to a bag, and they planned to take these to Gravity Falls as gifts to Ford, Stan, Soos, and Dan. They still had plenty left over, and Dipper had set aside two bags for his mom and dad.

But—and it's been a long way here, but we needed to know where the nuts came from—that Saturday morning, Mabel turned to and made an apple-walnut coffee cake for brunch. When they heard the clatter of pots and pans and mixing bowls, Dipper and Wendy got out of bed, dressed, and joined the other two in the kitchen.

"Smells good!" Wendy said.

"Uh," Teek said, "I folded the sheets and things back up. I guess I'll need them tonight again. Uh, thanks."

"Yeah, the washer's running," Mabel said. "I kind of had stuff that piled up and needed washing, so—I'll put everything in the dryer this afternoon and fold it and then you guys can do any laundry you need to do. That reminds me, how'd you sleep, Teek?"

If Mabel had blushed, Teek did an impression of a ripe tomato. "Best ever," he said.

"Hey, remember to call your mom and dad!" Mabel said. "Tell 'em you'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

"I thought I'd just walk in and surprise them," Teek said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"All right, but they may have plans for Thanksgiving already made!" Mabel warned. "What are you making, Wen?"

"Baked frittata. We need to use up these eggs anyhow, and we've got some cherry tomatoes, a sweet potato, and a little bit of prosciutto that will be yummy. How long do you have to bake the coffee cake?"

"Forty-five minutes at three-fifty."

"OK, the frittata needs ten minutes, so set the timer for thirty minutes and I'll pop it in when it goes off. That'll give us a few minutes wiggle time if one or the other isn't quite done."

Mabel put the coffee cake in, set the timer, and said, "Hey, Dip, take Teek out and show him the backyard and then take him down to see that great bridge you guys made!"

"Want to go?" Dipper asked.

"Um, sure," Teek said.

"Bring your cup if you want to."

But Teek drank the rest of his coffee and the guys went out back, accompanied by Tripper, who seemed to greet every day as if it had been tailored just for him. The fog had thinned to mist, and a bright spot in the east promised that soon the sun would burn the rest of that off.

"We use the grill a lot," Dipper said. "Grunkle Stan thinks we ought to make a picnic area out here, and we might do it. Those are the nut trees. We got a lot of walnuts this year, not so many pecans, but Wendy says pecans alternate between heavy and light harvests, so I guess we'll see. Here you go, Tripper!" He opened the gate, and the dog charged out.

"We don't know the name of that creek," Dipper said as they walked the same route where he and Wendy usually ran. "This all used to be a farm, and I guess they had cows down this way. It looks like part of the creek used to be dammed up to make a farm pond—that's down this way about a quarter of a mile—and there's some foundations that might be what's left of a barn."

"Mm-hmm," Teek said.

They reached the bridge, and Dipper went into detail about how he and Wendy had designed it, built it, erected it, and finished it. Teek reacted in monosyllables.

Finally, Dipper couldn't keep from laughing. "Teek! It's OK, man. We're not going to pry into your and Mabel's business."

Teek sat on the step up onto the bridge. "Uh. Well, I—you know. We're a couple now, I guess."

"Sure you are," Dipper said. "Officially engaged and everything."

"Mabel says you and Wendy, you know—waited."

"We promised each other when we first started to get serious," Dipper said. "So, yeah, we did. But remember, I turned eighteen only on the day we got married. You're nineteen, Mabel's eighteen now, so—everybody's got to make up their own mind. We're not going to disapprove or make fun or anything. And you don't have to pretend to sleep on the sofa tonight. But—just between us—I wouldn't tell your mom and dad, or Mabel's and mine. They'll probably catch on, but, you know—if they want it brought up, they'll say something."

"Thanks, man," Teek said. He sighed. "I hope Mabel's not, um."

"Disappointed?" Dipper asked. "No way. There's one sure way to tell."

"What's that?"

"If she cooks brunch, she's deliriously happy," Dipper said.

* * *

And meanwhile, Wendy and Mabel were having a heart to heart. "First time's kinda a mixed bag," Wendy advised.

"It was, you know—great!" Mabel said. "But I guess I wasn't mentally prepared. It kind of ended too fast."

"Yeah, you'll learn," Wendy said. "Talk it out. Always talk it out. Don't keep secrets from each other. You gotta let each other know what works, what doesn't, and so on. Hey, don't make Teek think he has to pretend to sleep on the sofa. Dip and I aren't going to gossip about you or tell your parents or his anything you don't want them to know."

"Thanks." Mabel sighed. "Well—it wasn't everything I fantasized, but it still was—you know. You're a married woman. You know."

"Yeah, I know," Wendy said. And then they high-fived.

* * *

Oddly, the rest of that morning and afternoon were relaxed and cheerful. No bawdy jokes, no edginess, nothing out of the ordinary. They had dinner together—Dipper baked a chicken, Wendy made a vegetable salad and a potato dish, Mabel baked some home-made yeast rolls. After dinner, Mabel and Teek departed for the last performance of _Avenue Q._

Mabel, who had been too excited the night before, introduced Teek to everyone in the cast. The other girls admired her engagement ring—the brilliant gem in it looked like a tip-top diamond, though it was really an alien crystal rescued from a crashed spaceship buried beneath the soil of Gravity Falls. Dally told her that Teek was a catch—he was quiet and obviously intelligent, but also sensitive and good-looking. And he was going to be in the movies! Wow!

The show went great to a completely full house. Every song met with enthusiastic applause, every joke with gales of laughter. The ovation at the end of the show went on for two or three minutes, and then Dr. Mayberry made her farewell curtain speech, and the crowd hung around to speak to the actors, congratulating them on a job well done.

Then came strike, and even though it was work and would go on for four hours, to make it a little more fun Dr. Mayberry provided snacks and let Teek pitch in and help.

As they were getting close to finishing, knocking the frames apart and removing the nails, Mabel said, "I've been thinking. When we get home—well, you know that scene with Princeton and Kate after they have all those Long Island iced teas? Maybe you and I could reinterpret that!"

Teek hit his thumb with a hammer.

* * *

While Mabel and Teek were away at the show, Wendy and Dipper packed for the trip up to Gravity Falls. As they did, Wendy asked, "Did Teek tell you?"

"Yeah. Took him a lot of effort, but he did."

"Mabes told me. How do you feel about it?"

Dipper shrugged. "The day Mabel won Waddles, she told me 'Everything is different now.' It's kind of like that. I feel sort of funny, I guess, but—it's Mabel and her life, so I'm OK with it."

"Yeah. But until they let people know, we have to respect their decision to keep it quiet."

"I am completely on board with that," Dipper said when the last suitcase had been snapped shut. "This is going to be a Thanksgiving to remember."

"Like the one where both your grunkles announced they were engaged!" Wendy said.

Dipper smiled, remembering that occasion. "It'll feel good to be back in Gravity Falls."

Wendy hugged him. "It sure will. Except you have to remember—we're married now."

"So?"

"So if Dad and my brothers have reduced the house to a dump again—this time you have to help me shovel it out!"

* * *


	36. Coming Home

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 19-25, 2017)_

* * *

**36: Coming Home**

Teek and Mabel trudged in around one-thirty in the morning. Tripper heard them and insisted on greeting them, so Dipper pulled on a pair of sweatpants and let him out. "You guys OK?" he asked.

Mabel, yawning, knelt to hug her doggy and nodded. "Yep. Set is knocked down, pieces are going to storage, puppets will be returned to the rental agency on Monday. And Teek and I are really good and didn't go to the cast party!"

"Well," Teek said, "they warned us it wouldn't wind down until sometime tomorrow morning. I mean Monday morning!"

"So . . . we're gonna turn in. OK if Tripper sleeps with you guys again?"

"OK with me," Dipper said. As both Teek and Mabel headed toward her room, He asked,  
"What time tomorrow do you want to wake up?"

"Whenever," Mabel said. "If you guys get up and we're still in bed, just go on ahead. We'll get there."

"Want us to take Tripper?"

"Nah, he can ride with us. G'night, Dip!"

"Good night."

"Oh, Dip—?"

He paused with the bedroom door open. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for not making us feel awkward and all."

"You're welcome," he said.

He and Tripper went back into the bedroom. Wendy sleepily asked, "They get in OK?"

"Yeah. It's just past one-thirty. We're gonna get up quietly and probably take off for the Falls before they get up. They had to work on the set for hours. They both went to Mabel's room."

"Well, we know, and they know we know. You didn't joke or—?"

"No. After all the jokes she made about us, before and after our wedding, maybe I should have!"

"It's not you. Snuggle up and let's get some sleep."

He did, but as usual, he woke before six the next morning. He pulled the sweatpants back on, let Tripper out, fed him, and then very quietly made some pancakes and sausages, cut up a few strawberries, added some blueberries and whipped cream, and then put a plate and cup on a tray and carried it to Wendy.

"Breakfast in bed," he said.

Wendy sat up, forgetting she wasn't dressed in—well, anything. "Whoops! Hey, man, toss me a tee shirt or something!"

Dipper gave her one of his, and when she pulled it on, he grinned.

"What?"

"Well, it's thin and it doesn't leave anything to the imagination."

With a wrinkled-nosed grin, she jiggled her—shoulders. And other places. "Oh, stop leering and feed me."

He set the tray up for her, went back to the kitchen—Tripper begged, but without much hope. Dipper gave him a marrow bone—a rare treat—and he enthusiastically took it into the back yard for a good gnawing and perhaps later a safe burial. Dipper made his own tray and took it to the bedroom, along with the small coffee carafe.

"These are good, man," Wendy said. "That all the berries?

"Most of them. I'll leave a note and ask Mabel to finish them. They'd go mushy before we get back. We've got about a quart of milk left—take it with us to the Falls, you think? Doesn't make sense just to dump it."

"Sure, we'll take the little cooler. Spare a poor girl another sausage link?"

"Help yourself," Dipper said. "I cooked half of what we have left. Maybe Mabel and Teek will finish the rest off."

Wendy speared one of Dipper's four links. "Thanks, man. How'd you get the pancakes so fluffy?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just fixed them the usual way." He took a bite. "They did turn out good, though!"

Wendy polished off the last of her pancakes and the extra sausage. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she finished her cup of coffee and from the small carafe poured just half a cup more. "This is the way to wake up. When I think of all those years we never went to bed together and woke each other up with breakfast—I can sympathize a lot more with Mabes and Teek!"

Dipper ate his breakfast and as Wendy got up and went into the bathroom, he admired her and even whistled. "Cool it," she said, grinning over her shoulder. "I'm gonna take a shower and then put on some pants!"

"What a shame," he said.

The nicest thing about their bathroom was the big shower stall. Plenty of room for two. They did a little mental fooling-around in the shower, nothing terribly physical, and then dried off and dressed. "Taking your car?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah, let's. But make sure the Green Machine is in the garage and the garage is locked. Don't want it stolen again!"

They carried the luggage out to Dipper's Land Runner. "I'm gonna brew another small pot of coffee," Wendy said, "and we'll take the big Thermos in case we want to stop and perk up halfway there. You sleepy?"

"I'm fine to drive," Dipper said. "You?"

"Yeah, but I want the Thermos as insurance."

By eight, with no peep from Mabel's room, Dipper and Wendy were antsy to get on the road. Wendy made some road-trip sandwiches—two mozzarella, avocado, and tomato ones, two peanut-butter and banana ones wrapped in tortillas—and Dipper left Mabel a detailed note asking her to _use up the berries and the last of the sausages and please empty the grounds from the coffee maker. And oh, yes, whatever you do, be sure to arm the security system! And when you're ready to hit the road, call my phone and let us know. Thanks!_

_PS—the hot tub is on, just in case you and Teek have some achy muscles._

He let Tripper back inside and latched the doggy door, and Wendy and he quietly left, heading back to the Falls for the first time since August 31.

* * *

They hit a little light rain as they drove east from Crescent City that cool morning. They soon ran out of it, though the clouds lingered, and were almost to the Oregon state line when Dipper's phone rang. He was at the wheel, so Wendy answered and put it on speaker. "Hi," she said. "You guys leaving?"

"Hi, Wendy—"

"Me, too," Dipper said. "You're on speaker."

"Oh, hi, Brobro! No, Teek's cooking pancakes for us. Thanks for setting up the coffee maker so we just had to turn it on! You fed Tripper, right?"

"First thing this morning," Dipper said.

"Oh, good. I thought he was lying to me! Well—we're planning to leave around noon or so. Um."

"What?" Dipper asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Come on, Mabes," Wendy said. "Don't be shy."

"Well—if Teek and I take a dip in the hot tub, should we just turn it off?"

"Drain it," Dipper said. "Use the long hose and run it down and through that little culvert beside the back gate so it can drain toward the creek."

"OK." Mabel sighed. "Don't tell anybody in the Falls that I got my ring, OK? We want to surprise everybody!"

"We won't."

Long pause. Then, "Teek and I talked it over. We want our wedding to be right after we get out of college. Is it OK to wait that long?"

"Whatever you guys want!" Wendy said.

"Yeah, OK. Um, Wendy, can you and I talk about a few things later on? Maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," she said.

When Mabel hung up, Dipper asked, "Wife things?"

"Dunno, but I'd guess so. Maybe she wants a referral to my lady doctor."

"Why would she want—oh! OK."

"Yeah, a girl likes something reliable," Wendy said.

* * *

They pulled off the highway north of Klamath Falls, at a state park, but the day was overcast and a lot colder than it would have been in Crescent City—the temperature hadn't even reached forty degrees, and a gusty wind made it chillier—so instead of claiming a picnic table, they parked and had sandwiches and coffee in the car. Before they finished, Mabel called and said they were ready to leave. "Be sure to arm the security system," Dipper warned again.

"Got it. Where are you guys?"

"About halfway."

"OK. I'll drop Teek off, and probably stay and talk to his folks for an hour or two. Meet you in the Shack?"

"Fine," Dipper said. "Soos may put us to work."

"It's a dark day!" Mabel objected, using the theater term for a day of no business.

"November," he reminded her. "Time for the annual inventory and cleaning."

"Yech! Soos wouldn't do that to us! Hey, tomorrow Tripper and I are gonna go visit Waddles and Widdles, anyway, so let's beg off."

"If Soos agrees," Dipper said.

"Aw, he's a big old cuddly pushover," Mabel said, and she was right. She hung up and Dipper and Wendy finished their in-car picnic.

"Want me to dig out our jackets?" Dipper asked as they prepared to change seats.

"Nah, I'm good. Might bump up the heater thermostat a little, though. I see what you guys used to go through when you came up from Piedmont to the snowy Northwest!"

"It's an adjustment."

"Dip—let's stay in the attic, OK?"

"Fine with me," he said. "Only the beds up there are pretty narrow."

"That's the fun of it," she said with a wicked grin. "Seatbelt!"

* * *

By the time they arrived in Gravity Falls in midafternoon, the clouds had clamped right down, and the wind was gusting up to twenty miles an hour. However, the temperature had climbed up to fifty—though the wind chill made it hard to tell a difference. Soos, Melody, and Abuelita welcomed them to the Shack, Harmony and Little Soos squealed and hugged them, and after unpacking, they drove over to the Corduroy house.

Wendy looked around in some alarm. The place was clean.

"Yeah," Dan said, noticing her staring, "Ruby comes in every other day to help us clean up. And the boys are more careful to pick up and everything nowadays." He winked. "You know, Ruby used t' be a Marine!"

"Ruby?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah, Ruby Cazdan. You know her. Widow lady, 'bout my age. Lives up on Raccoon Run, little farm."

"She the tall woman that wears fatigues? Kinda coppery hair?"

"That's her. We, uh. Well, she comes in and cleans, and I pay her, but we, uh."

"You're dating!" Wendy said.

"Kind of." Dan dropped his head. "I get kinda lonesome," he admitted in a low voice. "I wanted to ask you, Wendy—you reckon your mama would mind?"

She hugged him. "Of course not! The only thing in the world Mom ever wanted was for our family to be cared for and happy. You know that."

"I wasn't askin' for your permission or anything," Dan said. "But, you know. I just wanted you to know and not be upset or nothin'. Now, we ain't talked anything permanent, mind! But I take her bowling."

"Then it's serious," Wendy said with mock gravity. "Hey, you guys are invited to the Shack for Thanksgiving dinner! Bring Ruby, too, Dad!"

"I may ask her," Dan said. "What can we bring?"

"Lorena will probably organize it," Dipper said. "We'll ask her and let you know."

From the Corduroy place they drove to Stan and Sheila's, where Ford and Lorena were also sitting and chatting. After the usual questions—how was the drive? Mabel still over the moon? How's Teek holding up?—Ford said that he and Fiddleford had consulted the faculty, and the next spring they would arrange to increase the student body of the Institute for the Study of Anomalous Sciences (Ford wasn't great at names) to two hundred and twenty students. "We have a site already picked out for a new dormitory," he said, "and Fiddleford has plans for a modular instructions—the frame will be easy to put up in a matter of a couple of months, and then the individual rooms can be prefabricated and just slipped into place."

And Stan said that he was giving very serious consideration to running for Mayor of Gravity Falls. "Election's set for summer of 2019," he said. "If nobody else comes out as a serious candidate, I'll do it. Tyler says he's about had his fill of it. It pays hardly anything, you know. So it's mainly the glory and the headaches. Dipper, what do you think? Could I do the job?"

"Grunkle Stan," Dipper said, "you can do anything you put your mind to. Where are Mom and Dad?"

"They wanted to see Crater Lake," Ford said. "So they're on a little road trip."

"They could've picked a better day for it," Wendy said. "Kinda breezy and nippy."

"How are they feeling about Teek and Mabel?" Dipper asked.

Sheila laughed. "Alex is comfortable, Wanda's antsy. Know what the young couple's plans are?"

"Long engagement," Wendy said. "At least that's what they're thinking—get married when they both graduate from college."

"Ay-yi-yi!" Stan said. "They'll never hold out that long!"

"But," Sheila said firmly, "whatever, we won't meddle!"

Late that afternoon, while they waited for Mabel and Teek to show up, Dipper answered the door of the Shack to find an odd pair of visitors—Jeff the Gnome and Chutzpar the Manotaur.

In the spirit of the human holiday, they had brought gifts for the table. Chutzpar had a package of venison tenderloin big enough to serve a large family—of humans, or maybe one Manotaur—and Jeff had a basket of assorted Gnome jams and jellies, in human-sized jars.

"These won't turn us into super-powered crazy people, will they?" Dipper asked suspiciously.

"Or make my boobs grow to triple size?" Wendy added.

"What? No! These are pure jams and jellies, not our secret recipes!" Jeff said, sounding shocked.

"Darn," Wendy said, but she was grinning.

"Uh—would you like a little booberry jam?" Jeff asked.

"No, we're fine as is," Dipper said hastily. "But thanks."

"OK. But before you leave again, I'll be sure to bring you a tiny little jar of Mushroom Shaboom," Jeff said. "Just a pinch, and you have a great night's sleep. You drop it in a cup of hot tea or whatever. You can give us a report when you come back for Christmas. If it works well on humans, we're thinking of selling it in the Shack."

"You guys set for the cold months?" Dipper asked.

"Oh, sure," Chutzpar said. "All stocked up with dried meat. Ready to seal up the Man Cave until—" he balled his fists and bawled, "MATING SEASON!"

Shaking his head as his ears rang, Dipper said, "Great, great."

"The Gnomes are pretty well set, too," Jeff said. "We have larger numbers now—a good many of the Ferals decided to rejoin the colony—and we're moving from the trees to the winter quarters. I only wish we could burrow a little further below the frost line, but what are you gonna do? Get down too far and the Molemen hear us and come up to prey on us. We can hold them off now that the McGucket has given us some weapons, but who needs the headaches?"

Just then Mabel burst in, Tripper bounding along just behind her. "Wahh! Ta-da! Mabel's in the house! So good to be in the Shack again! Oh, hey, Jeff! Hey, big cow man—Pituataur?"

"That's my brother. I'm Chutzpar!"

"Hey, Dip! Teek's mom and dad are fine with us! His little sister started to cry, though, until I told her that I'd be her big sister after we get married—"

"Married?" Jeff asked. "Mazel tov! Did I say that right? Teek is a lucky guy! Me and four other Gnomes are jealous—but congratulations!"

"May your first child be a masculine child and broad of horns!" Chutzpar said.

Soos, who had been back in the gift shop with Melody working on the inventory, came bursting in. "Hambone! Did my ears hear right? You and Teek—?"

"Uh-huh," Mabel, said, showing him her new ring. "Oh, Jeff, don't worry, I'm still wearing the promise ring with the stones you guys got for Teek, see?" She'd just shifted it to her right hand. "It's gonna be a while before we're married and even think about children, Chutzpar, but thank you!"

Soos wiped away a tear. "Aw. They grow up so fast!"

* * *

To be continued


	37. Making the Rounds

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 20-21, 2017)_

* * *

**37: Making the Rounds**

On Sunday evening, Soos tacked big signs up on the Museum and gift shop doors, hand-printed with colorful markers. They both bore exactly the same message:

* * *

THE MYSTERY SHACK

will CLOSE for the season

On SATURDAY DEC 9.

Thanks everybody for a great year!

We will open again on MARCH 17, 2018.

C U Then. Get it?

Have a great winter, dogs!

* * *

Both of the signs also had little sketches in the lower right corners, three diminishing circles like a minimalist snowman, but one wearing a black jacket and a red fez. Little Soos's portraits of his dad, they were not only cute, but in the proportions of belly to head, nearly accurate.

Soos had told Wendy and Dipper that business was still ticking along—nothing spectacular, but at least equal to the past few fall seasons—and that he'd banked enough to make a few improvements next year.

After dinner, Soos had shyly said, "Uh, I guess you dudes are too grown-up now to come back and work in the Shack, uh, no, I guess that's all Soosed up, sorry."

"Dude," Wendy said, "Come on, man! Me and Dip are looking forward to coming back next summer! What if we start on June 5? We can work clear through until September 1 before going back to the University."

"Me, too!" Mabel piped up. "And you gotta have Teek in the snack bar again! You hire us all or you get none! Final offer!"

"Really?" Soos said, his eyes lighting up. "It'll seem like old times! But Wendy, dude, you have to come back as like Manager or some deal. And I'll make Dipper, uh, I don't know—"

"Chief of Sales," Mabel suggested. "I'll be Snack Bar Manager. And Teek can be the Chef de Cuisine!"

"I can probably manage like at least a five per cent raise for everybody, too," Soos said. "Thanks so much!"

Wendy said, "You and the family going back to Mexico this year?"

"Oh, yeah," Soos said. "Abuelita really can't stand much cold weather." That was true. At dinner, the old lady had been bundled in so many sweaters she looked as if she had gained ten pounds. "And the kids like it, and Melody enjoys the vacation. Abuelita's gonna fly down this coming Sunday afternoon, and then Melody and the kids and me are gonna go like on December 27. Because of you-know-what."

"Soos," Mabel said. " _Everybody_ knows what!" She had long before announced to everyone, including the Corduroy family minister, that the reaffirmation of Dipper's and Wendy's vows would be on December 26, and in the Shack. Invitations had been sent out, and she had fabric and decorations on order.

"When are you coming back?" Dipper asked Soos.

"Not until just before we re-open. I forget the exact date, but it'll be along about the tenth or eleventh of March."

"The Shack gonna get along without a caretaker?" Wendy asked. That had been her winter job for the past few years—remaining in the Shack while the Ramirez family took its annual Mexican vacation, keeping the heat going and making sure no pipes froze.

"Oh, sure," Soos said. "Mr. Pines, I mean Stan, says he'll come up the hill every day and check things out. So that's OK, we're covered."

That night Mabel planned to walk down to Stan's house to sleep in the guest room. Though Soos offered to put Dipper and Wendy up in the Shack's guest room, which had a queen-sized bed, they chose the attic instead.

"We can push the beds together," Wendy said. "Dipper feels more at home up there."

"And they can make all the noise they want!" Mabel said.

"Yeah, we might play a quick game of attic golf," Wendy added.

* * *

Just as they were getting ready for bed, Dipper's phone rang—Alex. "Hi, son," he said. "Mom and I just got in from dinner."

"Did you guys enjoy Crater Lake?" Dipper asked.

"Eh, very scenic, but it was cold and blustery. Not a bad drive, though. And your mom wanted to get in some antiquing, and we went to that place that Uncle Ford recommended, the restaurant, uh—"

"The Farmhouse," Dipper said.

"That one, right. And then we dropped in at the mall and saw a movie, we haven't done that in forever, and now, uh. We're back. You kids all get in OK?"

"Yes, no problems," Dipper told him. "Now, tomorrow, Mabel and Teek and we are going to drive up to Morris so Mabel can visit her pigs, and then Wendy's Aunt Sallie has invited us for lunch, so I guess we'll see you and Mom at dinner."

"Sounds like a plan. Have a good night."

"You, too, Dad. Hey—thanks for not being shocked at Mabel's play. That meant a lot to her."

Alex chuckled. "I think it sort of jarred Wanda at first, but she got into the spirit of things. The proposal was a surprise. Luckily, Teek's really impressed Wanda—polite and quiet and steady, just the kind of fellow Mabel needs."

"He's a good guy," Dipper agreed.

That night, after all, Wendy and Dipper wound up not pushing the beds togetherl. But even in Dipper's single bed, they made do.

* * *

On Monday, Mabel had a joyful reunion with her two favorite pigs in the whole world, and Sallie Corduroy Bellone cooked a typical big farm lunch of fried chicken (one bought from the meat market, not a member of her own flock, who lived just to lay eggs and eventually died of a contented old age). As Dipper had often told Wendy, Sallie was a wizard at fried chicken—crispy crust, so tender it all but melted in the mouth and completely delicious.

As they cleaned up, Sallie, supervising Wendy's dishwashing, asked, "When can I expect a grand-nephew or niece?"

Wendy almost dropped a plate. "Aunt Sallie! Dad's already started on us about that. At least let us finish college before making those kinds of demands!"

"You do plan on starting a family one day, though," Sallie said. It wasn't a question.

"One day," Dipper agreed. "Don't worry. You can count on us."

"Teek and me will have a family, too," Mabel said. "You're welcome to claim them as honorary grand-whatevers! Did I show you my ring?"

"Three times, I think," Sallie said, grinning. But she admired it again. "I envy you young'uns. My big regret in life was that Bell and I couldn't have children. That's always a sadness that lingers on and on. I won't devil you any longer about starting a family, but my Second Sight's already told me I'll live to have two red-headed twins on my knees. And Mabel, your first will be a boy and your second will be a girl, so there. You just wait and see. If it turns out t'other way, you can call me a silly old woman—but just you wait!"

"From your mouth to God's ear!" Mabel crowed, echoing an occasional expression of her dad's, and Teek, who blushed easily, turned red. Even so, he was grinning.

Mabel then put on a special show for Aunt Sallie, condensing _Avenue Q_ into about half an hour, singing highlights from the songs, acting out all the roles for the juiciest jokes. Sallie laughed her head off. "Wish I'd been there! Lord, it's sort of profane, but it sounds like it would be a scream!"

Mabel whipped out her phone and went into her photo album. "Here's all the puppets. This is mine, Kate, and this is the young guy she falls in love with, Princeton, and this is Trekkie Monster, and—"

Wendy and Dipper had sat through a similar performance already, for the benefit of Soos and Melody, so they went out onto the back porch. A warming trend had set in, and the forecaster promised that eventually Gravity Falls would see a high of 63, but at noon the thermometer on the porch pillar said it was in the high forties.

The farmyard gleamed under a gray November drizzle, though the light rain didn't seem to bother Waddles and Widdles, both of them hefty porkers now. They had a very nice sty of their own, but they wee free-range piggies, and they enjoyed nosing around to see if any of the other animals had perhaps dropped some fodder or corn or a corned-beef sandwich or something.

Dipper stretched and said, "It's good to be back."

"Yeah," Wendy agreed. "Funny. I know that Soos has added onto the Shack a lot since the first summer I worked there, but somehow it seems smaller to me."

"I noticed that, too," Dipper said. "Maybe it was the bed."

"Hey, if it's too uncomfortable, I can sleep in Mabel's old bed!"

"I thought it was very comfortable," Dipper said, putting an arm around her waist. "At least twice."

"We would've made it three times if we hadn't lost sleep the last few nights."

"Tonight for sure."

"Dipper, can I tell you a secret? I like it when you talk semi-dirty!"

That made him laugh.

But Wendy's mind was still running on the odd phenomenon of shrinking buildings: "My house looks little to me now. My old bedroom is tiny! And when we drove past the high school, I thought, 'How come it's so little now?' What causes that, Dip?"

"Guess it's just that we're all grown up now."

She rubbed his back. "Maybe. Sometimes I don't feel grown-up, though."

"Me, either," he said. "When I saw Mabel and Teek going into her room to spend the night—oops."

"Don't worry about it," Wendy said. "Aunt Sallie's Second Sight probably has told her all about it already, and I don't think the pigs mind."

"Yeah, but, you know—I wasn't mad or anything, I just felt sort of—I don't know. Like Mabel's too young for that, but, man—we're the same age! Anyway, I felt sort of displaced in time. I really can't explain it."

"Know what you mean, man. When Soos said he wanted us back at the Shack next summer, I nearly squealed like a little girl!"

"It makes me happy, too."

* * *

That evening they had a big family dinner, hosted by Ford but catered by the Willetts, a nice older couple who had retired from owning and running a restaurant but kept up a catering business. They really liked the Pines family, largely because they always insisted that the Willetts dine with them. Fiddleford and his wife also visited, and it turned into quite a party.

Alex broke the news that he had been sitting on: His company had bought out a smaller computer concern, and he was being promoted to Manager of Development, at a significantly higher salary, plus stock options. After the mandatory congratulations, he said, "I start in the new position in January. One of my biggest concerns will be to develop useful applications and any hardware support needed. I was wondering, Dr. McGucket, if you'd consent to serve as an occasional consultant."

"Me?" McGucket asked, blinking. "Why—shore. 'Long as my boss man here don't mind none."

"Of course I don't mind!" Ford said. "But I warn you, Alex, your problem will be that Fiddleford will shoot you twenty-five ideas for new developments, and you won't know which one to start on first!"

"That's just what I want," Alex said. "We'll work out the details later, Dr. McGucket, but I've been told I can offer top rates for consultants."

"Hot diggity!" Fiddleford said. "Don't git me wrong—I love the teachin' at the Institute, and it makes me feel young myself to be dealin' with so many bright young'uns—but now I got something to take up my spare time!"

Mabel announced—again, and then again—that the church service for Dipper and Wendy would definitely be the day after Christmas. "That way, the twins will nearly have two Christmases! One Christmas and the next day a family anniversary!"

"Twins?" Wanda asked, blinking.

"Not yet, but just wait!" Mabel said. "Oh, it's gonna happen! I got it from a reliable source!

She wouldn't go into more detail. After dinner, Lorena and Sheila got together with the Willetts—they were going to cater the big Thanksgiving meal that would include them all, as well as Soos's family, and they were going to be sure to prepare venison as one of the dishes, to use the Manotaurs' special gift.

To be on the safe side, Ford had run a basic analysis of the Gnome jams, and they were, paranormally speaking, inert, and so safe for human consumption.

Wendy and Dipper walked up the hill to the Shack under a sky of broken clouds, with stars peeking through at them. Off in the hills somewhere a wolf—more likely a werewolf—howled. A few Gnomes scurried out from under the Museum porch as they approached, probably having just taken care of the field mice that almost always came in from the wild at that time of year. Anyway, the Gnomes were munching something.

"Now it really feels like home again," Dipper said.

They went up to the attic and prepared for bed. Snuggled tight against each other—necessarily in the narrow bed—Wendy thought to Dipper, _Dude, we're pretty good at keeping pacts, right?_

— _We sure are. We held out for at least three years until we were married!_

_So I've been thinking, it's time for a new pact. You game?_

— _I trust you, Magic Girl. What is it?_

_Been thinking about growing up and even growing old. Let's never do it, OK? I mean, we can't help getting older. But inside—let's stay young for the rest of our lives._

— _That sounds great to me._

_It's a deal then. Solemn pact, man. Now—where were we?_

— _Planning to try for three times?_

_Just three? Pssht! Four, if you're man enough!_

— _Four? I don't know if I am. But anyway let's see—let's go for it!_

Wendy, giggling, consented.

* * *


	38. Family Matters

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 21, 2017)_

* * *

**Chapter 38: Family Matters**

"How could we have red-haired twins?" Dipper asked. "I looked it up, and children don't inherit red hair unless both of their parents have it."

Ford, whose own Institute was on its Thanksgiving break, had gone down to his lab in the basement of the Shack that Tuesday to do some computer simulations and to catch up on transferring some field notes to his permanent records. "Hm?" he asked. "What twins?"

Dipper reminded his grunkle of what Mabel had blurted out at dinner the evening before. "Wendy's Aunt Sallie says she has Second Sight and knows that one day Wendy and I will, you know, have red-haired twins."

"Indeed?" Ford asked. He pondered for a little while. "It's true that the gene for red hair is as a rule recessive. However, you do have red hair in your ancestry. Your grandmother on the Pines side had very striking red hair when she was younger. Then, too, Wendy—but then again, maybe I shouldn't say anything."

Dipper put down the stack of file folders that Ford had sent him to collect. "You can't stop there!"

As he saved the results of his last computer run, Ford said slowly, "Well . . . it's nothing particularly alarming, Mason. It's totally benign. In fact if you—well, I might as well tell you. But even Wendy is unaware of this, and there may be a bit of an ethical snag involved. Chalk it up to my scientific curiosity."

Mabel and Teek were off somewhere together that afternoon—"Don't wait up!"—and Wendy had returned to the Corduroy house to visit until dinnertime. Soos and Melody were taking care of the Shack's light tourist business, Grunkle Stan was immersed in a televised poker tournament, and helping Grunkle Ford had seemed like a good idea, but now Dipper had his doubts. "Please. Just tell me."

Ford double-checked that his file had been saved and backed up, then swiveled in his chair to face Dipper. "A few years ago, I had occasion to test Daniel Corduroy's blood for a possible infection—he didn't have it, by the way—and I also checked Wendy's once, while you and Mabel were in school and she was working in the Shack and had a minor accident—it was after she'd suffered a small abrasion, which I treated, and knowing what I then did about her father, I was curious enough to take a minuscule sample of her blood as well—"

"Grunkle Ford!" Dipper said. "What's _wrong_ with Wendy?"

"Nothing!" Ford said hastily. "It's simply that she has Corduroy genes. Stanley calls them freakish lumberjack genes, and in a sense, he's right. The Corduroys are subtly different. I don't mean they're mutants or monsters, mind. It's just that their genome is detectably different from yours, or mine, or most other people's. What in you or I might be a recessive gene for red hair appears in the Corduroy genome to be different."

"Dominant?" Dipper asked.

"Um—no. More than dominant. I'd call it an aggressive gene instead. When Wendy has a child, her genes are quite likely to make the hair red. Indeed, it's almost a certainty. The child may also inherit her strength and—but don't be shocked! Most certainly, if you and she have children, your genetics will factor in, too!"

"That's good," Dipper said, though the relief was so great that he really didn't mind. "So maybe with Wendy, her red-hair gene will dominate, is that approximately correct?"

"Yes, that would be one way of expressing it in layman's terms," Ford said. He put his big hand on his great-nephew's shoulder. "Mason—Dipper—the important point to remember is just this: if you and Wendy have children, rejoice in them. It's a blessing—my Pop would call it a mitzvah—that Stanley and I missed."

"When and if it happens," Dipper said with a smile, "and no matter if we have one or two or six at a time, and I don't care what color their hair is, those kids are going to be loved."

"That's the most important thing," Ford said. "Now—back to work. Please find the file marked _FLA-09-17._ I need to input some data that may affect the outcome of my last simulation."

Dipper found the folder. "One other thing," he said. "Is there anything to Aunt Sallie's claim that she has Second Sight? Kind of an awareness of things she couldn't possibly know and sometimes getting a glimpse of the future?"

"Ah. That might be yet another effect of the Corduroy genome. You do know that Sallie Corduroy was born and raised in Gravity Falls," Ford pointed out.

"So—maybe she really does have some ESP?" Dipper asked.

Ford nodded. "It is possible, but not certain. What I'm saying is some people born in this place have qualities that are vanishingly rare in the rest of the world. Those qualities just might include clairvoyance and precognition. It's true, however, that I've never come across anyone who's capable of controlling these gifts. You say that Mrs. Bellone—"

"She prefers Corduroy," Dipper said. "She said that when Mr. Bellone died, she realized she had to say goodbye to him, and he'd always let her be herself, so—"

"Mrs. Corduroy, then," Ford said. "You say that she just sometimes has flashes of foreknowledge?"

"Yes," Dipper said. "She says she never knows when it's going to happen, and it doesn't always happen when she needs it. She talked about one time when she'd been visiting Dan for a day and came back without realizing a bear had forced its way through a window and was ransacking her kitchen. She said, 'I didn't have a clue, and so I waltzed right in and caught the critter in the pantry!'"

"Goodness," Ford said. "Was the bear hostile?"

"She said it was, but it eventually recovered. But a flash of precognition would have warned her ahead of time. Like you say, she can't control when it happens. It just strikes, like random lightning."

"Does it ever appear at an opportune moment?"

"Oh, sure. I remember that once she told us it happened when Mount St. Helens erupted. She and Mr. Bellone were living in town back then, and all of a sudden Sallie had a vision of the mountain exploding before news reached Oregon. She got it as Mr. Bellone was walking home from the bank to have lunch. Sallie asked him not to go back to work, and sure enough, pretty soon the ash cloud rose up and all. But ordinarily if you ask her what's going to happen, she can just guess, like anyone else. She says that lots of times she's had little dreams or visions or whatever of Wendy and me and our kids in the future."

"Ah, a concern with family. Maybe that's another part of the Corduroy genome," Ford said. "Does Wendy ever have such visions?"

"No," Dipper said. "But as far as foreseeing the future, well, she's got really good instincts in a fight. Or a lumberjack game. It's like she can anticipate the other guy's move a split second before he makes it."'

"Then perhaps she has a touch of the power, not the full amount."

"Or maybe it just hasn't developed yet," Dipper said. "Sallie told us she was an adult before she started to get the Second Sight. What is that exactly, anyway? I haven't looked it up."

"Second Sight? It's a folklore term for a kind of ESP. It includes clairvoyance and precognition. Let me think a second. Oh, yes. I recommend that you read John G. Campbell's book _Witchcraft and Second Sight in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland._ If it isn't available—and it's a very old book—I have a copy of it somewhere. By the way, is Wendy of Scots descent?"

"Maybe. She says her ancestors were Celts."

"Interesting. The name 'Corduroy' is French in origin—'Cloth of the King,' it means. But Dan thinks his ancestor changed the name at Ellis Island when immigrating. The family tradition is vague, but apparently the first member of the family had a few legal complications he wished to leave behind him. He could have been a Scot."

"Wendy says Aunt Sallie has a lot of odd expressions that are kind of Irish, too," Dipper said.

"The Irish are related to Scots, and they have many similar beliefs. Both speak variants of Gaelic, too. Irish ancestry is certainly possible, too."

"OK," Dipper said, writing down the title of the book his grunkle had recommended. "Huh. You mean I married a witchy girl?"

Ford took a deep breath. "I—I'm afraid so, Mason. Don't let it upset you. I shouldn't have—"

""Upset me? Not at all!" Dipper, beaming added, "That is is awesome!"

* * *

That evening Mr. and Mrs. Pines came up to dine with the Ramirez family. Mabel grumped a little because Teek felt a responsibility to spend some time with his mom and dad and sister, but she cheered up at the Tex-Mex spread that Abuelita prepared, and she insisted on having one glass of Albariño, a white wine whose ancestry went way back to Spain, though this was a local variety produced in Oregon.

Whatever, it went well with the spicy food, and it hardly affected Mabel at all. Well, let's be honest, this is Mabel, so it's hard to tell, really. Wendy and Dipper shared a glass, but Alex and Wanda had two glasses each. Soos didn't have much of a taste for wine, and he instead drank sparkling lemon water, and his kids had apple juice.

Abuelita knocked it back, though. "This reminds me so much of when I was a girl," she said after her third, or maybe fourth, glass. "My cousin Raymondo, much older than me, he grew his own grapes and made it to sell in a _restaurante._ My father gave me my first glass when I was six. It tastes of _recuerdos buenos_!"

What with one thing and another, after dinner they all wound up in the parlor, telling old family stories. There was the time the bull got into the Ramirez hacienda one day, no one ever learned how, and ate all the stuffings from the best furniture.

Dipper laughed as Abuelita described, with gestures, how her father had become a temporary bullfighter, coaxing the bull from the house by flourishing a tablecloth like a matador's cape—and how once outside, he'd had to climb a tree when he proved to be a little too good at rousing a bull's wrath.

Dipper laughed with the rest and then said, "Hey, Wendy, your aunt Sallie had to deal with a bear in her kitchen once, didn't she?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "She's told me all about that. Were you even with me, or did Dad tell you that story?"

"I don't remember," Dipper said, caught like the bull where perhaps he shouldn't have been. He remembered that Dan, having the prospective father-in-law talk with him, had told him about the bear the previous summer, but he'd asked Dipper to keep the whole conversation just between them, man to man. "Maybe you said something, or maybe it was Aunt Sallie. Somebody mentioned it."

"Wasn't much to it," Wendy said. "It was a hungry bear—this was along in the late winter or early spring one year when bears were just coming out from hibernation and were all skinny and stinky. It busted into her kitchen while she was gone one day, and she found it eating everything it could get out of her pantry."

"How did she get rid of it?" Wanda asked.

"Rasseled it to the floor and kicked its butt until it wanted to leave," Wendy said. She grinned. "Then she felt sorry for it and hauled food out for it. It wound up hanging around for a couple months like a big old dog. I remember seeing it when I was, oh, six, seven years old. Aunt Sallie had taken to bathing it by then—"

"What?" Wanda asked, blinking.

"Bathing it. Long as it didn't bother her chickens or cows, she didn't mind it lazing around the place all day. Discouraged door-to-door salesmen and evangelists, she said. But she didn't like the smell, so once a week she grabbed it by the ear, hauled it down to the creek with some soap, and gave it a good shampooing."

"It didn't bite her?" Alex asked.

Wendy shrugged. "Might have tried the first time or two, but it gave up. When I saw it, it was so tame it wasn't scary at all. Eventually a lady bear came by one evening, and it must've liked her, 'cause they both went off and after that Aunt Sallie saw it only a few times, usually right after hibernation season, when it would come by and real politely beg for a handout."

"I wish I had a bear for a pet," Mabel said.

"Wasn't a pet," Wendy said. "She never named it or anything. Just tolerated it and fattened it up so's it wouldn't raid the house again."

"She fought it hand to hand?" Alex asked.

"Told me she did, and she's not a liar," Wendy said.

"I'd be terrified to see a bear up close," Wanda admitted.

Mabel dissolved into giggles, as if she's snuck an extra glass or two of wine. "That's 'cause you're not a frickin' Corduroy!" she said.

Dipper squeezed his wife's hand. "The word," he told Mabel, "is flippin'."

* * *


	39. Same-y but Different-y

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 22, 2017)_

* * *

**39: Same-y but Different-y**

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: _This morning wasn't the coldest run Wendy and I ever had, but it was cool—high forties—when we started off, so we both were wearing long-sleeved tees and jogging pants. After we stretched out, Wendy said, "Nature trail today, OK?"_

" _Great with me," I said, and we started off past the Bottomless Pit and down the Mystery Trail. We've run that route hundreds of times, I guess, and it was the same as always, but different, too. We're right on the cusp where fall turns into winter, and the trees showed some faded traces of autumn colors. We saw a couple of rabbits, looking a little swollen._

" _They're growing in their winter coats," Wendy said. If we happen across any deer, they'll look fatter, too."_

_We didn't see any Pteranodons, but they tend to hole up in the depths of the old mines in the winter, where the lava streams keep it warm and humid and they can prey on cave-dwelling reptiles and mammals. The dinos and dino-relatives also get a lot less active, so their caloric needs decrease._

_For that matter, we didn't pass any Gnomes, either—they're occupied with packing food into their burrows so they can make it through the really cold months. Anyway, it was a nice day, with a cloudy but not rainy sky overhead. The birds were different—I thought the lack of woodpecker drumming seemed strange, and we saw and heard a lot more robins calling "Cheery, cheery, cheery-up!"_

_At one point, out near the low hills, a small hawk swooped down not far away and snatched up a mouse or something._

" _Merlin," Wendy said. "Did you see it?"_

" _Hawk?" I asked._

" _Falcon," she corrected. "Smaller than hawks. Also, there's only one genus of falcons, and hawks are birds from several different genera. Falcons' wingspans are greater in proportion to their body size than hawks' are. Falcons are faster than hawks. Peregrines can make sixty miles per hour, and one was clocked in a dive at over two hundred. Whoosh! Getting hard to talk."_

_That meant we had achieved an aerobic rate of speed. And I was with her—so from then on we conversed just in short bursts and phrases. We didn't intend to slow rounding Moon Trap Pond and getting back on the Mystery Trail on the way back home. However—_

_Moon Trap Pond, a perfectly circular pool down at the low point of a bowl-shaped valley looked different. In the past, if you could see Moon Trap at all in any type of daylight—full sun, misty, pearly day, any time other than deep night—the water was always a deep blue, like a mirror reflecting a clear sky. If clouds passed over, their reflections never drifted in reflection over the pond's surface. In fact, the only thing I've ever seen it reflect is the moon._

_But this morning, the water glowed golden._

" _Something's up . . . dude!" Wendy panted. "Should we . . . check it out?"_

" _Guess so . . . not too close . . . though!"_

_So we slowed. And we stopped a few steps away from the pond's edge. ""Is that—is the water—"_

" _Not the water. Her."_

_A figure like a mermaid sculpted from liquid gold rose until her torso arms, and head were all above the surface. The last time I had seen her, she was all silvery. But I knew her right away. "Numina," I said._

_We backed away, but to my surprise, the nymph didn't speak or even beckon. She simply nodded, gave us a sweeping gesture, and then submerged. Or maybe just merged with the water. The surface quivered, the golden glow faded, and then it was a smooth blue mirror._

" _What was that all about?" Wendy asked me._

" _I think she was just acknowledging us," I said. "Maybe because we're married now?"_

_Numina had kind of been our matchmaker, I guess. And maybe the one who gave us our touch-telepathy._

" _You don't think she took back—" Wendy said._

_I grabbed her hand. Nope. We still had our mental mojo._

" _Let's get home," Wendy said._

_We jogged back up the hill to the lone standing stone, wheeled around it, and set off back toward the Shack. I mean, maybe Numina just gave us a friendly wave, but—she's a nymph. Minor goddess in the old days of Greece. And she's one of the Gravity Falls denizens that operate independently of human ideas of right, wrong, and morality._

_Trust no one, Grunkle Ford used to write._

_We detoured from the trail to check out the spot where Bill Cipher's physical form and settled after Grunkle Ford wiped his consciousness out of Grunkle Stan's mind. Now it was completely gone, no sign of it remaining. Ford had confided in me enough to tell me that when the limestone of the figure of Bill Cipher had disintegrated, Stan had come out with a portable vacuum and had cleaned up the gold dust that a bunch of gold bugs had once deposited on it._

_Not one sign of the effigy remained. Just the steel cage that Fiddleford had constructed to enclose and insulate the remaining essence of Cipher. As long as the statue had existed, a circle of barren soil had surrounded it. In the past summer, weeds had colonized the space inside the cage. Now it held only dry stalks and brittle leaves, but obviously the weeds had grown thick and, most important, normal._

" _I ought to call Billy Sheaffer," I said to Wendy as we power-walked back to the Shack. "Make sure he can make it up to the Falls for the church service."_

" _What's the plan?"_

" _Well, his mom and dad said it would be OK for him to fly up Christmas afternoon and then back on December 30. I invited the Sheaffers to come up too, but they say he feels more grown-up making the trip alone. Anyhow, I need to call and make sure that his parents are still on board with him coming up."_

" _He'll be here," Wendy said confidently. "No way Bill Cipher would miss our recommitment."_

_I have to remember that. Billy's not just Billy any longer._

_Now, whether he fully realizes it or not—_

_He's Bill Cipher._

* * *

The Shack was to be closed for the Thursday through Sunday of the Thanksgiving season, but that Wednesday was a normal workday.

However—and this, as Stan would say, was the beauty part—with only a few dozen tourists at all likely to show up, Wendy and Dipper and Mabel could lay out. And so could Mabel and Teek. The two of them had taken off in Helen Wheels—just sightseeing Mabel had told Soos. No telling where they might end up.

Tripper, comfortable and happy being back where he had first bonded with Mabel, didn't need looking after. He yipped at Wendy and Dipper as they walked around the Shack. They glanced up at the roof and saw Tripper, stretched out in the window seat of the dormer—the one with the flat roof, where Wendy used to sneak off to all the time, every day, to get a break from work. Dipper said, "I was sitting up there when I saw Norman lurking around Mabel and thought he was a zombie."

"Well, Tripper's found a place where he can be warm and look out on the world, so he's happy. Teek and Mabel are off somewhere sight-seeing—" Wendy's tone gave the phrase a sarcastic little twist—"so . . . not a freezing day, supposed to be in the middle sixties or higher this afternoon—want to go spend some time in the hot spring?"

"How soon can we pack a picnic?" he asked.

Pretty doggone soon, as it turned out. The spring was about the same temperature as their hot tub at the college house, but the spring water held an infusion of minerals. And the water was deep enough for both of them to lie back, bodies held afloat by the density of the mineral water, just floating and touching and feeling all the tensions melt away.

"The steam's great," Wendy said with a sigh. "Opens up my sinuses."

"Smells a little like boiled eggs," Dipper said.

"Little bit of a sulfur smell, yeah," Wendy agreed. "But it's real light. Hey, dude, one of these days let's go to Yellowstone. Always sort of wanted to see the geysers."

"I'd like that."

In fact, Gravity Falls had its own geyser field—the hot spring was an outlier of that—but Yellowstone's geothermal fountains dwarfed the ones in Gravity Falls, which rarely spouted to a height more than five or six feet. Many of them were just steam vents, wearing colorful little collars built up from the deposition of dissolved minerals.

Old Faithful would make the Gravity Falls versions look like squirt guns.

"Better go in summer," Dipper said.

"Yeah, I think big areas of the park are closed to the public in winter," Wendy replied. She suddenly dropped her feet and raised her shoulders out of the water. "Do I hear voices?"

"Oh, crap," Dipper said. "That's Mabel's laugh! She's bringing Teek here."

"What are we going to do?" Wendy asked, sounding more amused than apprehensive.

"Don't think we have time to get out and get dressed, so . . . just wait until they get close."

Almost immediately Mabel and Teek emerged from the brush. Mabel was saying, "If I remember right, it's under the overhang—that sort of scooped-out place in the cliff."

"Hel-lo-o!" Wendy called.

"Are you guys in there?" Mabel led Teek up to the far side of the pool. "Ooh! Can't see much through the water, but no swim togs, huh? Room for two more?"

"I don't think so," Dipper said. "If you two want to use the hot tub, we'll get out. Just let us get dressed without spying on us, that's all."

"Come on, Mabel," Teek said. "It'd be one thing if it was night, and dark, but, this feels creepy."

"Aw," Mabel complained. "Well, Brobro, it's obvious we're still on the same twin wavelength, huh? Remember that time you two went skinny-dipping in the lake and I—um, knew?"

Dipper grinned. In her enthusiasm, Mabel evidently had forgotten that the guy she brought skinny-dipping with her wasn't Teek, but Ronnie Nabel, who had fewer nudity hang-ups than Mabel's shy boyfriend.

"OK," he said, "Last time we were all here, we brought swim trunks and swimsuits. So if we want to all climb in again—"

"All right, all right," Mabel said. "Teek and I will walk back up to Camp Hill. You two get out and get something on, and then we'll take our turn."

"Sounds like a plan," Wendy said.

* * *

On their way back, Wendy said, "If those two can't help fooling around like that—"

"Those two?" Dipper asked, grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah, smart-ass, it's different for us. We're an old married couple."

"Point taken. Anyhow, Mom and Dad aren't stupid, and I don't think Teek's folks are exactly dimwits. They're going to know pretty quick. Uh—are they using—"

"About that. Mabel's asked me to help her get an appointment with Dr. Peyton, over in Mossy Run so she can get herself set up with what she needs."

"Peyton? Your gynecologist?"

"Yeah, she's great. Dr. Peyton will arrange for something safer than just using temporary measures. Is that going to weird you out?"

Dipper thought about it. "No," he said at last. "I'd rather she and Teek got married because they want to, not because they had to. When is she—?"

"Not until some time after New Year's," Wendy said. "It takes a while to set an appointment up. And it'll have to be a long weekend or a break, so Mabel will have time to drive up and have the consultation and all."

"I hope she and Teek are OK until then," Dipper said.

"I've had the talk with Mabel," Wendy said. "She'll take care of business until she can see my doctor."

"We're talking about Mabel," Dipper warned.

"Trust her," Wendy said.

"Well . . . ."

"Trust her, man."

Dipper sighed. "If you say so, Wendy. If you say so."

* * *


	40. Feasts

**Zero Regrets**

_(Thanksgiving Day, 2017)_

* * *

**40: Feasts**

Billy couldn't be there, but when everyone gathered in the parlor of the Shack—the dining room was far too small—Dipper face-timed him and everybody waved and wished him a happy Thanksgiving. Soos added, "We're looking forward to seeing you on Christmas Day, dude! Just a month away! You get to sleep in the attic, man! Up in the attic!"

Billy smiled and gave him two thumbs-up.

Wendy and Dipper glanced at each other and shrugged. That meant they probably would take the guest room, either here or in one of the grunkles' houses, but—well, they could let Billy take the attic. He was still a kid.

Though the parlor was big enough for a crowd to dance in, with all of the Pines Thanksgiving Day festivals taking place there—it was full.

They'd pulled in folding tables and chairs and sill . . . wow. At the head of the extended table sat Soos, of course, with Melody on his right and Abuelita on his left. Little Soos was excited to be in a booster seat, and across from him Harmony in her highchair.

And then: Stanford and Lorena, Stanley and Sheila, Alex and Wanda. Dipper and Wendy, Mabel and an empty chair next to her for when Teek would get there, probably in time for dessert since his family was having an early meal. Then came Fiddleford and Mayellen—Tate was enjoying the day with his in-laws and bride over in the Dalles. Across from Wendy loomed her dad, Manly Dan, and her two younger brothers, her older brother off in Washington with his wife and her family. The Willetts, who had cooked most of the food that made the tables sag, sat at the far end.

And the tables really did sag beneath the weight of it all: venison steaks, a turkey with all the trimmings, homemade challah bread, potatoes that had been whipped until they gave up the location where the peas had been hiding, a sweet-potato casserole (Fiddleford had brought it over), a vegetable medley, two kinds of cranberry sauce, and gravy for both venison and turkey. No (by special request of Mabel) ham.

The spread was more than plentiful. Jeff, who had brought a squad of Gnomes to cart away any leftovers, declined to sit at the table and waited on the porch, but Soos made sure he and his six workers received plates that each could have used as a skating rink. The serving sizes proved more than adequate. Even the Gnomes, who had been known to strip a school of piranhas to the bone in less than a minute, couldn't finish it all, so they started filling up their leftover bags before the humans had even reached pie and coffee.

Those around the table in the parlor kept up the old Pines tradition that Stan had thought up a few years before of going round the table and giving thanks for one thing that had happened in each person's life. Dipper, of course, was thankful for his wife, and Wendy was thankful for her husband. Mabel was thankful for a fiancée who'd be there any minute. And, oh, yes, for getting such a good part in her play. And for getting the highest mid-term grade of all the students in her only art class that term. And for a dog as smart as Tripper, who modestly woofed at hearing his name. And for getting to live off campus and not in one of those dinky dorm rooms at Olmsted, she had visited Eloise, and her room was much bigger and nicer, why couldn't Olmsted build dorms like that? And did she mention—?

Mabel had more to be thankful for that the rest of the guests put together, since she was a girl who always looked on the bright side of things. That Thanksgiving, she could have done with a pair of sunglasses. Teek showed up in time for the pumpkin, cherry, and apple pies—Mabel had a little slice of each, Teek settled for pumpkin, which he liked but hardly ever got to eat except on holidays. "And what are you grateful for?" she asked him. "Come on, we all know you want to say it!"

"For you," Teek said simply. Then, with a shy smile, he said, "And also for the Pines family and their generosity. Without them, I would have been stuck two thousand five hundred miles away in film school today. Thanks, guys. I promise, I'll pay you back someday."

"That's why I love him!" Mabel said.

By the time the Gnomes had hauled off most of the leftovers—sparing the humans from days of turkey sandwiches and hash and stuff—everyone was sleepy and ready to watch football, a not-too-exciting game because Los Angeles wiped the floor with the Dallas team. The Pines guys were all sideline quarterbacks and, if only the Dallas team could have heard and listened to them, could have turned the tide of the game, to hear them tell it. Stan was happy he had no money on the game. Ford kept having to have the rules explained.

Early on after Soos had turned on the TV, Teek invited Mabel to come visit his house and stay for dinner that evening—leftovers from the O'Grady Thanksgiving meal, but Mabel was cheerful about that. Dipper and Wendy discreetly left the room and went . . . bowling.

Neither of them really cared much for bowling, but on Thanksgiving afternoon, the entertainment venues in Gravity Falls were limited. They discovered six or seven other groups of Thanksgiving-crowd refugees rumbling bowling balls down the wood alleys to crash into the pins.

The only one working the desk was the manager of the Bowl-Sum-More, Mr. Samuelson, a skinny, balding, soft-spoken man, who welcomed them and helped them out. They rented shoes, received a lane assignment, and picked out balls that they thought they could handle, and then Mr. Samuelson asked in his mild voice, "Excuse me, but are you Daniel Corduroy's daughter?"

"Yes, sir, I am!" Wendy said brightly. "I know you had some trouble with him. I'm sorry about that."

"Not your fault," the slight man said. He gulped. "It's just—he kept _throwing_ the bowling ball! He damaged the automatic pin setter, and when I asked him to stop, he got so upset with me! Tell him I said I'm sorry and he's welcome back if he won't throw the ball."

"I'll tell him," Wendy said. "He's pretty stubborn, though. Sorry, man, but don't count on him apologizing or changing his bowling style. I'll try, anyway. Maybe I can negotiate something."

"Please do try. I just hate having anybody in town mad at me."

"Dad drives me crazy sometimes," Wendy sighed a little later as she and Dipper laced up the bowling shoes. "Maybe if we could get him a ball too heavy for him to loft. He plays bowling the way a regular guy plays football. OK, Dip, how long since you went bowling?"

"I don't remember," he admitted. "I'm pretty lousy at it."

"So am I," Wendy said. "It's kind of boring, but on the other hand, Soos and your dad and grunkles are gonna be replaying that football game over and over for hours. Let's see what we can do."

The first set was pretty disappointing for Dipper. He threw a gutter ball, then knocked over a couple of pins. Wendy at least got eight pins down. It was true, though—neither of them was very good. Dipper was pleased to break 100 as he gradually did a little better and actually made one strike. If only he could have remembered how he did it, he might have managed to get another one, but no.

Wendy edged him—for the first game, Dipper scored 102, Wendy 116. They played three games in all, until Dipper started to get a blister on his thumb, and their scores got a little bit better, but not by much. "OK," Wendy said as she averaged the scores. "I think you always round down, so you're a beginning bowler with a 106, I'm a hardly better than beginner with 120. Let's go do something else!"

They caught a superhero movie at the Multiplex, then called it an evening, discussing the film as they drove back to the Shack. "Lame, man," Wendy said. "If there was this guy intent on kicking the crap out of you, and you were trying to fight him off, if he suddenly yelled, 'Hey, my mom's named Wanda too!' would you stop fighting him? Seriously?"'

"Somehow I can't see myself fighting a bully," he told her. "Usually I try to walk away. But if somebody was fighting me and tried that, I'd ask him 'What does she think of you, acting this way?' Then I'd try to knee him in the groin."

"Nice!" Wendy said. "Yeah, I thought it was—what does Soos say? It was bogus! Except that it had better production, it wouldn't have been out of place on the Good Enough for TV Movie on the local station."

"It wasn't quite bad enough for us to be funny about it," Dipper reflected. "Pretty bad, though. If we'd been watching it while lying in bed, it would have been more bearable."

They got home, heard voices raised, more in disagreement than anger, as in the parlor the Pines men still debated what the Cowboys might have done to avoid such an embarrassing wash-out of a game. They heard Stan saying, "Nah, nah, nah, the best thing they coulda done, Soos, is not show up to begin with!"

Neither Dipper nor Mabel was very hungry, so they got a bowl of fruit—couple of apples, some grapes—and added some cheddar cheese and some crackers and took that upstairs instead of having a regular dinner.

"Still early," Wendy said when they finished eating. "Want to go downstairs and watch TV?"

"Let's just go to bed," Dipper murmured to Wendy. She agreed.

Though there still was no TV in Dipper's attic room, they—as the old folks used to say—knew how to make their own entertainment.

* * *

Dipper woke up sometime in the night—after midnight, probably, but couldn't tell for sure because he'd taken his clock to the college house—and went to the bathroom. He heard sounds from downstairs, stealthy clinks and clanks. He took his bathrobe from its hook on the door, pulled it on and tied the belt, and padded barefoot down the steps to the kitchen, where someone had practically crawled inside the fridge.

"What are you up to?" he asked, making Mabel jump a little bit.

She pulled back and gave him a smile. "Midnight snack, Brobro! We didn't give everything to the Gnomes, you know. I just got back from Teek's house, and since Stan doesn't have any turkey-day goodies in his fridge, I swung by for a bite to eat. How about you? Turkey sandwich?"

Dipper eyed the structure on Mabel's plate: two slices of bread enclosing a half-inch thick slice of cold turkey breast, beneath a layer of dressing, leaves of lettuce, a thin slice of sweet onion, a generous smear of cranberry sauce, and a dollop of gravy.

"Didn't you have dinner at Teek's?" he asked.

"Yeah, like five hours ago!" Mabel said. She pushed the sandwich a little toward the edge of her plate and added a slice of apple pie. "Teek and I have been real active—"

"I don't need to know," Dipper said.

" _Walking_ , dork!"

"Whatever. I'm going back to bed. What time is it, anyway?"

"About half-past midnight—"

Something scratched.

Speaking around a bite of her sandwich, Mabel said, "Oh, Dip, please let Tripper in—that's him. I let him out of the car to run around in the yard a little while I got something to eat."

Dipper opened the back door, and Tripper came in, looking bright-eyed and happy. Mabel tossed him a small piece of turkey, which he snarfed down. Then he sat near the table as Mabel finished off her snack, accompanied by a glass of milk.

Dipper wished her goodnight, and then he went back upstairs to the attic.

"Where'd you go?" Wendy asked in a sleepy voice.

"Bathroom, but then I heard someone downstairs. Mabel, getting herself a sandwich."

"One day," Wendy said, "that girl is going to eat herself sick."

"It happens about four times a year," Dipper said. "We just haven't hit it this school year, so far."

"Oh, good," Wendy murmured. "Something to look forward to!"

* * *


	41. Only for Now

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 24-25, 2017)_

* * *

**41: Only for Now**

With the holiday over, the last load of leftovers hauled away by a cheerful gang of Gnomes, the last runs downtown and around the nature trail done, the time for goodbyes came.

However, as Mabel, trying hard to put the best face on everything, said, "Just a couple of weeks before Christmas break begins! So it's only for now."

That was one of the songs from the musical. However, it failed to cheer up Teek very much. Mabel offered to drive him over to Portland to catch his flight to Atlanta. It would leave on Saturday morning at 6:00 AM, but the good news was that it would land at the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Airport at 1:35 PM. With the time difference figured in, it was only a four-and-a-half-hour flight, because it was nonstop.

Teek said his parents were driving him, but he'd love for Mabel to come along. Mabel instantly agreed.

With their parting looming, Mabel and Teek spent all of Friday together, though they did not hit the stores for Black Friday sales. What they did instead—well, they spent all of Friday together, OK? Planning for the future, mainly. Mabel was bouncing some ideas off Teek about their wedding, now only three and a half years away. "Think your folks would mind if we had both a priest and a rabbi officiating?" she asked.

"I think they both will be so thrilled that we waited until after college that they'd consent to a Gnome and a woodpecker officiating," Teek said.

"Hmmm," Mabel said, getting a far-away look in her eyes.

"Kidding!" Teek said hastily. "Let's go with the priest and the rabbi!"

"All right," Mabel said, "but it won't be as colorful."

"I think we can live with that."

At lunchtime, Teek and Mabel met Dipper and Wendy at Greasy's. Mabel said, "We got a couple of things to ask you guys. Is that OK?"

"If it doesn't involve hot married loving," Wendy said so quietly that no one but the other three at the table could hear it.

"It doesn't!" Mabel blurted too loudly. "Well—indirectly, I guess it kinda does! But here's the deal: Wendy, when Teek and I get married, will you be my Matron of Honor?"

"I dunno," Wendy said, teasing. "Matron? I'm not sure I want to be called that! Sounds like I'm the warden of a women's prison or some deal!"

"No, it's just a maid of honor who's already married—"

Wendy laughed. "I know, Mabes, just kidding you. I'd be happy to be your Matron of Honor. You gonna have a Maid of Honor, too?"

Mabel blinked. "Can I?"

"Sure!" Wendy said. "No law against it."

Blinking, Mabel said, "A whole new world of possibilities is opening! Candy probably won't be married, so I'll ask her! Wow! I could have a whole general staff of maids and matrons! I could rule the world!"

"Easy, Sis," Dipper said. "It's a wedding, not a power grab."

"Oh, OK. Teek—?"

Teek said, "Dipper, I'd like you to be my best man, if you're willing."

"Absolutely," Dipper said.

"This is so cool!" Mabel said. "A matched set—Maid of Honor and best man a married couple! I can coordinate your outfits! You'll be charming! Not as charming as Teek and me, 'cause it's our day, but people will be charmed. Charming will happen! I, Mabel, have spoken!"

Lazy Susan stopped to chat and congratulate Dipper and Wendy—again, she did it every time she saw them—on their marriage. "Such a cute couple!" she cooed. And she served them free pie, the way she always did. Mabel ate most of it.

"Oh, Wendy," she said, "meant to tell you. I called your lady doctor's office. Can you go with me for my exam?"

"When is it?" Wendy asked.

"January 15. Her office is open, but that's MLK Day, and both of our schools are closed. Appointment's at one, so we'll have to leave super-early, like six in the morning."

"What's wrong with you?" Teek asked, looking alarmed.

"I'm not sick. I'm just getting myself tricked out for married life," Mabel said. "So we won't have any surprise storks dropping by before we're ready."

"Oh," Teek said.

"It's totally on me," Mabel pointed out. "I know your folks have kind of a hang-up about such things."

"I don't," Teek said. "So—no more questions from me."

"You know what?" Dipper said. "I bet you could charter a flight from the Crescent City Airport to Redmond. Probably just a couple of hours of flying time."

"We'll look into that," Mabel said.

"I'll bet it'd be crazy expensive," Wendy said. "I'm OK with driving if you are. The exam and all won't take more than an hour. You'll need to get your medical records sent to Dr. Peyton's office before you show up."

"Taken care of," Mabel said. "Our G.P. in Piedmont has a patient portal, so I already went online and requested it. They'll be sent up electronically next week."

"Cool beans," Wendy said. "I'll leave Dipper home, so it'll be a girls' trip. Woohoo!"

"I'll find something to do," Dipper said.

As she finished the last bite of Dipper's chocolate pie—not his favorite—Mabel sighed. "OK, so tomorrow I gotta get up at three AM. Teek's folks are driving him to Portland, and I'll ride along and say goodbye to him at the security gate. Oh, Teek, I'm gonna miss you so much!"

"Just until December 11," Teek pointed out. "That's not so bad."

"Yeah, but then after New Year's it'll be five whole months!"

"You have nine days of spring break in April," Dipper pointed out.

"But ours doesn't match Teek's," Mabel complained. "His is a week later than ours! He can't fly out to see me."

"You could go the other way, though," Wendy said.

"I don't get it."

"Mabel," Dipper said, "Wendy's telling you that you could fly out to Atlanta for a week. Teek would be in class, but you could see him every day."

"She could come to class with me, even!" Teek said, suddenly excited. "That happens all the time. GACAF is really casual about people visiting classes."

"How much would that cost me, though?" Mabel asked.

Dipper said, "Well, it was going to be a Christmas present, but thanks to Mom, Dad, and a couple of grunkles, flight and hotel room are already reserved. Only thing is—don't hug so hard, let me breathe!—you won't have a car."

"I've got a couple of friends who'd let me borrow a car, though," Teek said. "I'll work something out."

"You guys!" Mabel said.

"It's not us," Wendy said. "Stan just asked us what you'd most like for Christmas, and all we did was, we suggested it."

"Act surprised," Dipper advised her.

* * *

The Ramirez family was away that day, driving Abuelita to the airport for her trip down to Mexico City. Then Melody and Soos would treat the kids to a tour of the big city and a couple of nights in a hotel, and they wouldn't be back until some time on Sunday. Soos told Dipper that he and Wendy didn't need to open the Shack—"We'll open for our last few days of the season next Tuesday—" but also said they could take advantage of all the leftovers and that they didn't have to work in the gift shop—"Time for inventory later, dawgs," he said. "And besides, Melody and Ulva already have it more than half done!"

Alex and Wanda left at noon for the long drive down to Piedmont. One last time, Wanda assured Mabel, "We really enjoyed the musical." Hugs all around. Dipper said, "Mom, Wendy and I have been talking—OK if we come down for a short visit during spring break next year?"

"Any time!" Alex said heartily. "Please drive the Dart!"

Mabel remembered her own spring-break whereabouts involved a surprise and said nothing, though her cheeks swelled with concealed excitement, making her look like a pleased chipmunk whose cheeks were bigger than its stomach.

When, a short time later, Teek and Mabel went off for the afternoon, Dipper and Wendy were left in the Shack.

"Alone at last," Wendy said.

Tripper woofed.

"You're involved in that," Dipper said. "We're all three alone at last."

"You know what?" Wendy asked. "I got a funny yen for roof time!"

"Kind of cold and breezy," Dipper said. "But if you want, let's pop up for a minute."

Even in mid-afternoon, the temperature was barely fifty—it had dropped into the high twenties the night before, so wintry weather was definitely on the way. It was breezy, with about a three-quarters cloud cover. They sat close together at the edge, legs dangling. "Betcha I could still ride the trees down," Wendy said.

"No takers. I know you could," Dipper said.

"Looks pretty from up here. Not as nice as in summer. Lot of bare trees already, but good view, anyway."

"They're going to have to re-paint the water tower soon," Dipper said. "Look. Robbie's muffin's starting to bleed through the paint again."

"It's a gigantic explosion," Wendy said, giggling. "Man, I'll never forget Robbie's face when you called it a muffin!"

"Well," Dipper said, "Nate and Lee kind of thought it was a muffin, too."

Soon enough the two felt chilly, so they went downstairs, started a nice fire in the fireplace, and sat on the sofa with Tripper between them. "What's on the cheap-o movie for tonight?" Wendy asked.

Dipper checked the local TV station's website on his phone. "Let's see . . . Christmas season's officially started, I guess. Tonight's epic is _Santa Claus vs. the Psycho-Delic Zombies,_ 1973 _._ 'When the undead have stockings to stuff, Santa finds that shocking enough!' It's in color."

"Can't be too good, then. Who's in it?"

"Stallion Brownson is Santa, Deedee Mallace is Standra Claus, Santa's niece, and Kristoph Farley is Rondo, the Zombie Elf."

"Cool! Two good actors and a scream queen. Let's check it out!"

"It's a date," Dipper said. "Hey—I've been meaning to ask you. Is Dan serious about Ruby?"

"I think he's getting his nerve up," Wendy said. "I don't know her really well, but she'd be a good match for him. I wouldn't be disappointed to have a step-mom who's a former Marine sergeant!"

"I'm looking forward to meeting her," Dipper said.

Wendy ruffled his hair. "You'd need to get a trim, maggot!"

"OK, just for that, I was going to offer you a foot massage, but since you called me names, forget that."

"Aw," Wendy said. "Don't do that to a poor girl. I take it back. A Dipper Pines foot massage, then maybe a friendly shower, we'll scrounge up a light dinner, pop some corn, and we'll be all set for a crappy horror movie."

Dipper kissed her. "You're forgiven. I'll get a towel and see if there's any kind of lotion. You kick off your boots."

Tripper hung around for a while as Wendy rested her bare feet in Dipper's lap, Dipper rubbed her feet and tugged her toes, and then Wendy started to hum little pleased sounds, but when she started to murmur, "Oh, yeah! Yeah, there!" the dog decided to go upstairs for a nap.

Dogs can be discreet too, you know.

* * *

Mabel came back on Saturday evening kind of bummed out. She crashed for a nap, and then when she woke up, Dipper asked, "Hey, Sis? Wendy and I talked it over. If you want, one of us will ride with you. We'll convoy down to Klamath Falls, and then we can switch. You and Wendy to Klamath, then I'll drive with you down to Crescent City."

"You guys would be willing to do that?"

"Yeah," Dipper said. "We figured you'd be missing Teek."

"I am," Mabel said. "OK, thanks. I'll take you up on that. What time are we leaving?"

"We thought around nine."

"That's a relief. You don't mind if Wendy takes the first turn riding with me?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks, Brobro. I have a lot of girl-type questions."

"She can probably answer them better than anybody."

After a short silence, Mabel said, "You know when I got kinda pissy with Teek 'cause he was going so far off for college? And you kept saying we could make it work?"

"Yeah," Dipper said.

"I'm glad you did, Broseph. It's really hard being so far away from him. Especially now that—well, you know. Especially now. But it feels right. I mean, without you watching out for me during our awkward teen-age years, I could have landed myself in so much trouble! Now I'll have Teek for my awkward post-college years. He's good for me, Dipper."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Well—guess now all we have to do is make it through another couple weeks of school, huh? And then Christmas break! And then the Corduroy-Pines Nuptials, Part II: The Revenge!"

"Let's drop the subtitle, and I'm with you a hundred per cent," Dipper said. "Oh—you want Tripper to ride in the Land Runner or with you in Helen Wheels?"

"Let him ride with you. He's really good in the car but when we get to a stopping place so I can trade off passengers, remember we gotta look for a place where he can, you know, take a walk."

"Gotcha," Dipper said.

The week had been a lot of fun in a lot of ways, and being back in Gravity Falls again was great, but man—it had seemed to fly by. Tomorrow they'd leave the Falls yet once more.

Oh, well, as Mabel had sung in the play and had said since—

It was only for now.

* * *


	42. Unexpected Detour

**Zero Regrets**

_(November 26, 2017)_

* * *

**42: Unexpected Detour**

It was one of those things. We've all had them, when we think "If only."

It's too late then, but we can't help thinking it anyway. That Sunday . . . .

If only they had stopped longer the last time Mabel wanted a bathroom break. Or if only she had held it for another hour.

If only Dipper had slipped behind the steering wheel of Mabel's Carino instead of taking the passenger seat.

If only they had gone five miles per hour faster, or five miles per hour slower . . . .

But no, none of that was true. And what happened, well, happened. Mabel and Dipper were in the lead, Helen Wheels on a long down-sloping hill. On the right side of the highway, a pine-clad hill slanted steeply down, and on the left a hillside fell away just as steeply.

Mabel, at the wheel, was chattering away about the style of the church wedding service coming up. She wasn't speeding, had both hands on the steering wheel, and kept full control of the car. Dipper, leaning back, caught a flash of movement off to the right. "Watch out!" he yelled without knowing what it was, except it was moving.

Running flat-out at top speed, the deer leaped onto the road only feet ahead of the car and immediately rocking-horsed into the air again. Mabel's instinctive reaction was to jerk the wheel sharply to the right. She missed the deer by inches—it bounded across the guardrail on the left and vanished down the hillside.

Behind them, except for Tripper all alone in Dipper's car, Wendy yelled, "Oh, no, oh no! Oh, my God!"

Ahead of her, Helen Wheels lurched onto the narrow right shoulder, overcorrected to the left, crossed the center line, scraped the guardrail, overcorrected right again, and then fishtailed. Strips of rubber lashed off and tumbled. At least one tire had burst.

Dipper grabbed the wheel. "Pump the brake!" he yelled. "Pump! Pump!"

The car, now heading back toward the steep hill on the right, nearly tilted over, rising on two wheels and half-spinning. Then they were slipping down backward, Mabel shrieking. They went backward down the highway, the guardrail scraping the passenger side. Dipper's airbag exploded in his face, and he thought they'd slammed into a tree. Then the car, finally slowing, reached a pull-off, unpaved, mercifully at the bottom of the hill.

It stopped in a cloud of dust and drifting fragments of dried grass. Mabel, shaking, was sobbing and saying, "No, no, no, no!"

Dipper, still mildly stunned, reached across, shoved the shifter into park, and tried to open his door, but it had been mangled and stuck. "Get out of the car," he said. "I smell gas!"

Mabel fumbled at her seatbelt. "Help me unfasten this!"

The driver's side door flew open, and Wendy leaned in. "Here, I got it! Dipper, you gotta get out this way!"

Wendy dragged Mabel out . Dipper unfastened his belt and finally thought of reaching over and switching off the ignition. Blue smoke drifted out from beneath the hood. Dipper found that the car had tilted to the right, and he hauled himself by gripping the wheel. Then Wendy grabbed him beneath his left arm and pulled. He fell out, hit the ground on his shoulder and the side of his face, and she pulled him to his feet. "Get away from the wreck, Dip," Wendy said. "Fire danger."

She'd parked his Land Runner on the shoulder just where it led into the pull-off. That put it about twenty feet away from Helen Wheels. Mabel was crouching on the ground, shivering and weeping. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Dipper looked back at Helen Wheels. The passenger-side front tire had been shredded. Pieces of the car lay on the ground, where it had scraped the guardrail. "Oh, dude," Wendy said. "Here." She ripped a strip of flannel from her shirt and pressed it against his forehead. He felt something on his right cheek, put his hand up, and his palm came away bloody.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"Probably cracked your head against the window—"

"Wendy!" Mabel yelled. "I killed a deer!"

"No, you didn't!" Wendy yelled, too loudly. "You missed it completely, and it ran away. Chill, Mabel!"

"Oh, my car. I ruined my car!"

"Dipper, got your phone?" Wendy asked.

"Uh—" Now things were moving weirdly slowly. Dipper found his right pants pocket was twisted, and he had to unfasten his jeans to get to his phone. "Here."

"Hold this in place," she said, putting his hand on the strip of shirt. "Press hard." She thumbed in 911. "Yes, I'm reporting an automobile accident on Highway 199. Couple miles south of Dollar Bend, car was southbound but it's on a pull-off on the northbound side. Just a sec. Mabes! You injured?"

"I-I-I. No, kind of sore, but no. I don't think so."

"Minor injuries," Wendy said. "Passenger cracked his head, got a bleeding cut, we're putting pressure on it. Right. Thanks."

"What happened?" Dipper asked.

"Come on, both of you." Wendy had them sit in the Land Runner. Mabel, with Tripper on her lap, hugged him and gazed through the windshield at Helen Wheels, moaning.

"It's just a car, Mabes," Wendy said. "You and Dip are gonna be OK. Hold on to that."

"It was my fault," Mabel said. "Can Helen be fixed?"

"Gotta be honest," Wendy said. "I think it's totaled. Hang on. Highway Patrol and an ambulance are on the way. Dip, you with us?"

"Yeah," he said. "What was that we almost hit?"

"Deer," Wendy said. "Mabes managed to miss it."

"What am I gonna do?" Mabel sobbed.

"Cry it out," Wendy said, rubbing her back. "Best thing you can do right now."

To Dipper the time still seemed strangely slow. The EMTs showed up first, after maybe thirty minutes, but to Dipper it seemed like three hours. One of the EMTs had him follow her finger with his eyes, looked in both eyes while shining a penlight in them, and finally she treated his cut with butterfly closures and a bandage. "You may need stitches," she told him.

Mabel checked out OK, though her lap and chest straps had bruised her. Before the EMTs had finished, the state police arrived. Mabel was still so shaken that she couldn't give a coherent statement, but Wendy told the story. "It was unavoidable," Wendy said. "Deer came bounding down the hill on the right. Mabel swerved right to miss it, ran onto the shoulder, and then lost it."

"How fast was she going?" the trooper asked.

"She wasn't close to speeding," Wendy said. "I was right behind them. We'd come down the curves where the limit was 25, and we'd passed the 55-miles-per-hour sign, but I doubt she was even going forty. The deer was just too close, that's all, and she barely missed it, and we were headed downhill. She lost a front tire, and then the car was just swerving uncontrollably."

"Lucky she didn't break through the guardrail," the trooper taking the information said. "We'll file the report. Give us your contact information and cell phone numbers. Need your license, registration, and insurance, Miss Pines."

* * *

Dipper got the four stitches—it was right at the hairline and probably wouldn't scar, the doctor said—and some acetaminophen. Mabel got checked out and told to rest and watch out for any symptoms, but basically she was bruised.

They had to arrange for a tow service, then retrieve Mabel's luggage from the wreck of Helen Wheels. Mabel called her dad, who was more concerned with her and Dipper than the car. He checked with their insurance, called her back, and told her that he'd guaranteed the deductible and co-payments. The car would be taken to a garage in Crescent City to be looked at, though Wendy told him that in her opinion, it was probably a total loss. "We'll deal with that when we can," Alex said.

What with one thing and another, they hauled into the college house at nine that evening. Tripper—who had been riding with Wendy, not with Mabel—kept close with Mabel, as if he sensed her feeling of loss and the delayed reaction she suffered from all the trauma.

"What am I gonna do tomorrow?" she wailed. "I can't get to campus!"

"Take my car," Dipper told her. "Wendy and I will take the Green Machine. But remember to park in a visitor's spot or get a temporary parking pass or something, OK?"

Mabel nodded. "Hey, Brobro," she whispered, "thanks for helping me stop Helen Wheels. I'd probably be dead now if you hadn't grabbed hold of the wheel."

"I didn't do such a hot job," he said, grinning. "Ouch."

"Your poor eye's gonna be so black," Mabel said.

"It'll get better. But I don't think I'll be running sprints tomorrow afternoon."

"It's scary," Mabel said. "There I was so happy, and the next minute, blam! I thought we were both gonna die."

"It's OK," Dipper said.

They were so keyed up that nobody, not even Mabel, felt like eating dinner. When they went to their room, Wendy sat in bed with her back against the wall. "Put your head in my lap, Dipper," she said.

He lay nearly crossways in the big bed. "What a sucky day," he said.

She stroked his hair tenderly. "I was so scared for you and Mabel," she said. "When she gets a replacement car, help me persuade her to get something sturdier. A vehicle that'll give her more protection in case of an emergency."

"We can try," Dipper said. "I think Mabel's on the phone to Teek right now."

"It's past midnight in Georgia," Wendy said. "But I guess she's got to tell him. Remind her to take her doctor's note tomorrow."

"I don't think she'll want to cut class," Dipper said. "But I'll remind her. I'll need to take mine to get out of sprints."

"Let's hope nothing else happens between now and Christmas break," Wendy said.

Her hand lay warm on his cheek. He put his own hand over it, pressing it to his face. "Hoping hard already."

* * *


	43. Taking Their Lumps

**Zero Regrets**

_(Late November 2017)_

* * *

**43: Taking Their Lumps**

Monday shaped up to be rough. Neither Dipper nor Mabel slept well. Both of them had quick flashes of dreams, and the dreams involved wild, spinning rides in out-of-control cars plunging down steep hills. At least Dipper had Wendy to cuddle and reassure him. Mabel woke up twice to find Tripper pressing close to her, nuzzling her cheek. However, her alarm went off, she dragged herself out of bed—Dipper was up already, his right eye now a spectacular shade of purple.

H looked at her through one open and one painfully slitted eye. “Morning, Sis. Wendy and I thought just cereal this morning. You?”

“Fine.” She sat at the table. “I’m so sore! I thought seat belts were supposed to protect you, not hurt you.”

“Saved you from getting bounced around and maybe thrown out of the car,” Dipper pointed out. He poured Mabel a cup of coffee, and instead of spooning sugar in it, she simply poured in a glug of milk and took a long sip.

“Thanks,” she said. “I feel so horrible. Not just from the wreck, but everything. Losing my car that stupid way. And last night I woke Teek up—”

“You know he didn’t mind,” Dipper said. He put three cereal bowls on the table, set spoons beside them, and got the milk from the fridge. “This is fresh,” he said. “I think you were kind of conked out last night when we stopped at the NorPac station for gas and Wendy bought a quart of milk. We’ll do shopping this afternoon.”

“I don’t even remember stopping,” Mabel said. She reached not for the Tooty Frooty box, but for the Vita-Crunch, a vitamin-enriched cornflake cereal. She shook some in her bowl and didn’t even put sugar on it, but instead poured milk and moodily stirred the flakes around.

Wendy came in, having spent about half an hour drying her hair. It took some time every morning. “How’re you feeling, Mabes?” she asked.

Mabel shrugged. “Not good. Achy. Mad at myself for screwing up so bad.”

Dipper poured Wendy’s coffee. “You reacted out of shock and surprise,” he said. “At least you didn’t head-on hit the deer. It got away.”

“Yeah, but I ran off the road and that led to everything else.”

Wendy sat. “Thanks, Dip.”

He poured his own coffee and sat next to her. “You’re welcome. Look on the bright side, Mabel. Nobody got really hurt, not even the deer.”

Mabel swallowed a spoonful of cereal and said, “You look like you’ve been in a fight, Broseph.”

“Doesn’t hurt as much this morning.”

“You guys aren’t running?” Mabel asked.

“Not today. And I’ll see the coach about getting out of track practice this afternoon, too.”

The doggy door clacked as Tripper came back in. “Hi, Bobo,” Mabel said. “I’ll feed you as soon as I finish.”

“I took care of it,” Dipper said. “Don’t let him trick you into giving him a second breakfast.”

Cereal and coffee didn’t take much time, and Mabel went to the sink to rinse her bowl, spoon, and cup. “Guess I’d better get on in to school,” she muttered. “You guys have a good day.”

“You, too,” Dipper said. “My keys are on the hook.”

“Thanks.”

She went to her room, returned with her backpack, and took the keys. “Be a good puppy,” she told Tripper. “Don’t let any bears break in.”

She left, and then Dipper and Mabel rinsed their dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher. “It’s early, but want to go on in?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Wendy said. “Oh, get the grocery list from the pad. I’ll bring our backpacks out.”

Dipper tore off the sheet from the pad that, thanks to a magnetic strip, hung on the door of the fridge. He folded the list and tucked it in his pocket. It was a long one—it would be a pretty expensive shopping expedition, but then they had used or tossed out all the perishables before their Thanksgiving trip.

Wendy returned. “Oh, get the grocery bags,” she said. “I always forget and have to come back.” Dipper got the folded fabric bags from the cabinet. He checked to make sure the doggy door hadn’t accidentally jammed, ruffled Tripper’s ears, and joined Wendy as they headed out to the garage. “Least we can park both cars in the garage until Mabes replaces Helen Wheels,” she said.

They got in, Wendy at the wheel, and she used the remote to open the garage door. Then she asked, “What the heck?”

Dipper looked behind them. In the driveway, blocking their path, Mabel sat at the wheel of his Land Runner.

“I’d better see what’s wrong,” he said, getting out. He walked back to his own car and Mabel rolled down the window. “What’s the matter, Sis?” he asked.

He saw that Mabel just sat gripping the wheel, and she was shaking. “Dipper, I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” he asked.

“Can’t drive! I’m scared. What if I wreck your car, too?”

“Aw, that won’t happen,” he said. “Just be careful—”

“I can’t do it.”

After a few seconds, Dipper said, “Get out and take your books to Wendy’s car. We’ll drive you in this morning and pick you up this afternoon.”

“Th-thanks.”

She got out, while Dipper backed his car and then pulled into the other garage slot. Mabel was in the rear seat of the Green Machine. Dipper sat in the shotgun position, Wendy backed out and closed the garage door, and they headed south.

“Don’t cry, Mabes,” Wendy said. “You’re just shook up. It’ll be OK.”

“I just f-froze,” Mabel said. “I couldn’t even s-start the c-car. It was l-like in Helen Wh-wheels when I c-couldn’t even f-figure out how to s-stop!”

“Mabel, come on,” Dipper said gently. “Wendy, how long did it take from the time the deer jumped out until we wound up off on the shoulder?”

“About ten seconds, I’d guess,” Wendy said.

“It s-seemed l-longer,” Mabel said.

“That’s the way it is when you’re shocked and scared,” Wendy told her. “But you really didn’t have much time to react, let alone to recover steering control and stop the car. Look, are you gonna be OK in class today?”

“I don’t know,” she moaned.

“Best thing for you,” Wendy said. “Being back in your routine will help you get over the shock. Look, just text me if you can’t take it. We’ll come and get you—”

“You’ve got class.”

“Eh, one of us can cut if we have to. But I think once you’re in class, that’ll take your mind off what happened. Hey, bring your doctor’s note?”

“In my backpack.”

“If it gets bad, show that to your teachers or the dean or whatever. And promise to text me.”

“OK.”

* * *

Going the extra distance—three miles to the Olmsted campus, then three miles back to Western Alliance University—made Dipper and Wendy run a few minutes late to their parking lot, but then their first class didn’t start until nine. They did have to search for a bit before locating a slot, but they finally did. The two walked to the Student Center for a second cup of coffee and then on to the Humanities building, where their ENG 3030 class met.

Dipper, fighting a lingering headache and having a little trouble with his swollen eye, kept expecting Wendy to get a text from Mabel, but none arrived. They sat through the lecture on Hawthorne, Melville, and American Romanticism, both of them taking notes, and then spent the next hour in the library, doing some of the reading for that class. Just before eleven they split up, Dipper heading for his math class, Wendy for political science.

They met again at the Student Center before noon. Eloise joined them for lunch—Monday after a holiday wasn’t the best date for that, but they picked up salads and the simplest, most foolproof sandwiches and found a table outside. Eloise asked the question that she obviously had been wanting to ask from the moment she caught sight of them: “Dipper, what happened to your eye?”

“Mabel and I were in an auto accident,” Dipper told her. “We’re OK, but we both got kind of banged up.”

And then she wanted to hear about it. Fortunately, Wendy had much more coherent memories than he did, and she told about what had happened. “Fortunately for Mabes,” she ended, “she didn’t hit the deer.”

“Is that dangerous?”

Wendy nodded. “Guy back home slammed into one after dark one night and lost an eye. It came through the windshield. But this sucker got away clean. I meant that it was lucky for Mabel ‘cause she’d find the guilt of killing a deer hard to deal with, though.”

“It’s bad enough that her car’s probably totaled,” Dipper said. “We’re going to find out for sure today or tomorrow, but it got racked up—we went into the ditch and then hit a guard rail, and we skidded backwards and downhill. Wendy doesn’t think it’s salvageable.”

“Depends on the insurance company some,” Wendy said. “And on whether the frame was bent and so on and so on, but it’s a pretty safe bet they’ll total it out. Oh, Dip, that reminds me, we need to call the Highway Patrol office and see when we can pick up the accident report.” She turned back to Eloise. “They didn’t charge Mabel—the cops agreed that the way the deer came running down the hill and jumped onto the highway, Mabel had to either dodge it or hit it, so it was an unavoidable accident—but they’re filing a report, and Mabes will need that for the insurance claim.”

“Tell her I’m so sorry,” Eloise said as they finished their lunch and Dipper and Wendy got ready to head for their geology class.

Wendy got a text from Mabel as they walked to the earth sciences classroom: _Made it. Will B in library when U guys finish. Txt me 4 pickup._

Her classes, in an exhausting back-to-back schedule, ended at 12:50 PM. Their last class began at 1:00 and ran to 1:55. Wendy texted back: _OK. Should be there around 2:15._

One little bright spot: Wendy and Dipper had taken the most recent Unit Test ahead of time before taking off for Thanksgiving Break. The results were in, and they had both aced it handily. Even so, by the time the end of class rolled around, Dipper was ready to leave and find some ice somewhere for his painful, swollen black eye.

* * *

They all went grocery shopping together at the All Foods, a somewhat pricey supermarket. Mabel added a bag of dog kibble to the list, they replenished their supply of OJ, fresh fruits, and meats, and lugged six fabric bags of food out to the car. As she slammed the trunk lid, Wendy said, “Mabes, tell you what. You drive the Green Machine back home. It’s not far, and I’ll ride shotgun.”

“I don’t think I should,” Mabel groaned.

“Come on, man. A cowboy fell off his horse, he climbed right back on. This is like a baby step.”

“You can do it,” Dipper urged.

And—she did. She drove very attentively, five miles under the speed limit, and made no mistakes. When they carried the food inside, Mabel said, “I’m gonna go face-time Teek. He’ll be out of class by now, and I bothered him last night, calling him to say I was OK when he didn’t even know I’d wrecked the car. I want to tell him I’m doing all right.”

“Tell him hi from us,” Dipper said. He helped Wendy put away the groceries while a rapt Tripper supervised, as though memorizing where every goodie went for storage.

Afterwards they wound down some. Dipper phoned both Stan and Ford and told them what had happened. Stan insisted on seeing what damage had been done, so Wendy texted the photos she’d taken while they’d waited for the ambulance and CHP officers to show up. “Looks pretty bad,” Stan said. “You knuckleheads sure you weren’t hurt bad?”

“Mainly just banged up a little,” Dipper said. “Luckily, we didn’t roll over or anything. Tell Soos, will you? And be sure he understands Mabel and I are basically OK.”

“Yeah, I’ll walk up the hill right now. You guys keep me posted on how all this shakes out, understand?”

Dipper did. The calls had taken about half an hour. A longer call to his and Mabel’s mom followed—no, the Pineses didn’t have to drive up to Crescent City, yes, they’d make sure that Dad got copies of all the paperwork, no, it really really wasn’t Mabel’s fault, and so on. That call sort of wore Dipper down, and for another hour he just lay in bed with an ice pack on his injured eye.

They’d decided in the store on an easy dinner—burgers and franks on the grill—and later that afternoon, when Dipper went out to fire up the backyard grill, his phone chimed. He saw the number and said, “Hi, Billy.”

Billy Sheaffer asked anxiously, “Are you and Mabel OK? Something happened, didn’t it?”

Dipper told him a quick version of the story—deer jumped out, Mabel tried to dodge it and succeeded, but the car got racked up. No, neither was hurt very much. “Did it come to you in a dream?” he asked Billy.

“I guess. I just had a bad feeling yesterday afternoon. I didn’t figure out that something must have happened to you guys until last night, so I guess it might have been a dream. I’m still not sure how I feel about this. I’m getting to know lots of things that I haven’t even read or learned about.”

“It’s part of being human,” Dipper told him. “Everybody has gut feelings and instincts. I think yours might be stronger than everyone else’s, though.”

“Dipper? Is Mabel there? Can I speak to her?”

“Sure,” Dipper said, closing the grill. “I’ll have to walk the phone to her.” He talked as he walked, asking Billy about his school, about his family. He reminded him about coming up on Christmas day.

“I can’t wait,” Billy said. “Gravity Falls is—I don’t know.”

“Like no other place on Earth,” Dipper said. In the kitchen, Mabel and Wendy had just peeled and sliced some French-fried potatoes. “Here she is. Mabel, Billy wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, thanks. Hi, Billy! No, not bad, thanks. Just my poor car got busted up. Thanks., but we’re really OK, and that’s the important thing. You did? Yay for you! So when does your Christmas break begin?”

As he went back to put burger patties and wieners on the grill, Dipper silently thanked Billy. Mabel’s speaking to Billy had been the first time since the wreck that she’d sounded close to normal. Now he thought she was going to be OK.


	44. Concerning Cars

**Zero Regrets**

_November 28-December 1, 2017)_

* * *

**44: Concerning Cars**

By Tuesday morning, Mabel had recovered her confidence enough to drive Dipper's car to Olmsted. As soon as she was out of class—it felt funny not to have rehearsal or performance to look ahead to—she got on the phone and made a few arrangements. That afternoon when Dipper and Wendy returned home from Western Alliance, Mabel said, "Guys, I hate to do this, but would you go with me for a couple of errands? I think it's gonna be sort of rough."

Wendy kicked off her boots and wriggled her toes. "What do you need, Mabes?"

"Wellll . . . OK, Helen Wheels is at Rusty Bolt's Garage and Salvage. I need to stop there and get an assessment-of-damages report for the insurance company. Then I gotta go to the CHP office on, um, let me see, Parkway Drive. They can print out my accident report, and I need that, too."

"Did you make an appointment?" Dipper asked.

"Did with the CHP. Haven't with Rusty Bolt's yet."

"OK," Dipper said. "Tomorrow we're out of class at 2:15. I have to put in an hour of sprint practice. Takes me about fifteen minutes to dress out. The earliest I can go with you is four. On Thursday, we'll both be out of class at two, and I could go with you anywhere that afternoon."

Mabel scrunched up her face. "Oh, shoot! I'm supposed to be at the CHP at 3:30."

"No sweat, Mabes," Wendy said. "Swing by campus and pick me up about 2:20, 2:30. I'll go with you."

"Thanks, Wen." Mabel sighed. "I've never had to do anything like this before. I need a little moral support."

She took Tripper out for a run, and Dipper asked, "So I guess I'll see you back here after practice is over and you and Mabel take care of business."

"Yeah. Don't worry about starting dinner. I'll do spaghetti, and we'll have a salad."

"Sounds good."

"Dip, you sure you feel up to sprinting?"'

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, my headache's about gone. I know my eye's still pretty nasty, but maybe the coach will let me take it easy. Anyway, I'll report for practice." He chuckled. "Coach was one of about six people who told me a story about how he once hit a deer and totaled his car. He understands."

"Maybe once we get these things taken care of, Mabes can start thinking about getting new wheels."

"If Helen Wheels is totaled, you mean."

Wendy gave him a look. "Trust me, Dip, it is."

* * *

Next day, when Mabel picked up Wendy in the parking lot at Western Alliance, she admitted she was getting jumpy and asked Wendy to drive. "Sure," Wendy said, and she slipped behind the wheel. "Hey, Mabes, get the address up on your GPS, OK?"

Mabel did. The CHP office turned out to be only about five minutes from the Western Alliance campus. It was a squarish gray-blue building, and Wendy parked to the side. They walked up to the desk and Mabel told the officer there why she had come and showed her ID, the car registration, and her insurance card. "Yeah," the officer said, "this was faxed in, I remember. Hang on and I'll get you a copy. There's a ten-dollar fee."

Mabel fumbled with her purse, but Wendy took a twenty from her pocket. "I got it, Mabes. You can pay me back."

"Thanks," Mabel nearly whispered.

The report was seven pages long, and the officer slipped it into a 9x12 manila envelope. "This copy's certified. You can turn this over to your insurance company, but you might want to make a couple of photocopies for your records," he said. "Sorry about your collision."

Mabel nodded, on the verge of tears.

As Wendy drove back to the house, Mabel read through the report. "Huh. Says I ran off on the right shoulder and then lost control and the car spun around and wound up a hundred yards from where I hit the shoulder. It had to be farther than that!"

"Not by much, Mabel. That's one of the strange things that happens when you're in an accident."

"I'm P-1, and Dipper's P-2. I guess that means _Person 1 and 2._ Hah, says alcohol wasn't involved, and that nobody was on a cell phone. Hey, you're W-1, witness one, I guess, and they say you identified the animal I swerved to miss as a female California mule deer! Blah, blah—'animal ran full-speed down the hill on the west side of the highway, verified by tracks on the east-side shoulder. The sudden appearance of the deer made the collision unavoidable.' What collision?"

"Guardrail, Mabes," Wendy said.

"Oh, yeah, here it is—no second vehicle or pedestrian involved, but collision with a stationary object."

"Key word's 'unavoidable,' Wendy said, "That means your insurance will pay."

Mabel called her dad and told him she had the report and summarized what it said. Alex listened and then said, "That sounds good, Princess. How are you?"

"Coping," she said. "Dip's letting me drive his car to class. Tomorrow I—" she gulped—"I go to see Helen Wheels at the garage and get their estimate. But Wendy doesn't think she can be fixed."

"Listen," Alex said, "How about faxing the report to me? I'll run interference with the insurance company. Phil's been my agent for twenty years, and he'll speed things along. Fax the garage report to me, too, and be sure to get photos of the damage and text them to me."

"Just a sec." Mabel held the phone to her chest and asked Wendy, "Is there anywhere we can use a fax machine?"

"Library at WAU," Wendy said. "Dime a page, I think."

"Can we go there?"

"Hang on." Wendy turned off the highway, made a loop, and then headed back toward her campus.

"Dad? Were going to get to a fax machine and send it. What's your fax number? Wait, wait, let me get a pen—"

"You don't need one," Alex said. "The home fax machine number's the same as the house number, except the last digit is a three, not a two."

"Huh. Did not know that. OK, it'll be a few minutes."

"It was just a car, Mabel," Alex said. "I know how much it meant to you, but it's nothing, compared to the fact that you and your brother weren't badly hurt."

"Yeah, but—it hurts, Dad. It hurts a lot."

* * *

They visited the library, where Mabel faxed the report to her dad—and incidentally repaid Wendy the ten dollars for the report—and then they drove home. Again, Tripper expected some playtime with Mabel, and she took him into the back yard for some toss-the-ball games.

Dipper showed up a few minutes later. When he came in and hung up the keys to the Green Machine, Wendy greeted him with a kiss. He asked, "How did it go?"

"Eh, so-so. Mabel's still not over it. I think tomorrow's gonna be rough. She'll take a good look at the car, and we're supposed to take as many photos of the damage as we can. Alex wants us to send him tons of pictures for the insurance. What?"

He shrugged and smiled. "Just hearing you refer to Dad as 'Alex.' I'll get used to it."

"Well, you call my dad 'Dan,'" she replied. "Of course, everybody in the Falls calls him that or 'Manly Dan.'"

"To tell you the truth," Dipper said, "I think Dad would be thrilled if you'd call him 'Dad.'"

"Now, to me that sounds funny," she said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're going with us tomorrow. I think Mabel will be upset."

* * *

And Wendy was absolutely right. The sight of poor Helen Wheels made Mabel cry again. Dipper walked around the car, taking photos from all directions. The whole right side of the car had been smashed. The passenger-side rear lights were broken, both hubcaps were missing, the doors were crumpled so badly they wouldn't open, and all the side windows and wing mirror were shattered. All the trim and one quarter panel were missing altogether, and the right front wheel well had been torn and warped. The front bumper hung on only on the driver's side. The right front wheel, with not a trace of tire left on it, tilted sharply outward, as though the axle was broken.

The guy who showed the car to them—his name was Fenny, he told them—suggested that Mabel look through the car and take any personal property she wanted to keep.

Mabel took some stuff from the trunk: a spare jacket, a couple of books, the script and sheet music from the musical, the compact but complete tool kit that Alex had insisted both of his kids carry with them. Or she stood by while Dipper did. She was too deeply in mourning to take care of it herself.

Dipper checked the glove compartment. Not much there—a lip-balm stick, a ballpoint and notepad, a bottle of aspirin, a penlight. But he took it all and even checked under the front seat. Nothing there but some old candy wrappers.

Wendy was talking to Fenny, who repeatedly shook his head. "It's a write-off," he said. "Brakes shot, so much body work—you'd have to rebuild the passenger side from the get-go, whole front end needs so much work it's not worth it, oh, and the oil pan's busted, too. Steering linkage. Just too many things. If the insurance company wants another couple estimates, that's fine, but they're not gonna go for a rebuild."

Mabel went and sat in Dipper's car.

Dipper asked Wendy, "Any other photos we need? The linkage stuff and like that?"

"I doubt it," Wendy said. She turned to Fenny. "That's all in your report, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Fenny said. "Hey, if you want, we can shoot that straight to the insurance company."

"Can Mabel take the steering wheel?" she asked.

"Huh? You mean, like remove it?"

"Souvenir," Wendy said. "This was her first car."

"Yeah, I guess," Fenny said. "It's not drivable anyhow. We'll just cannibalize it for parts, soon as the paperwork's done. Yeah, I got a daughter just started driving herself. Give me half an hour—"

"Just let me borrow some tools," Wendy said.

In twenty minutes, an admiring Fenny asked, "Hey, lady, would you like a job?"

She laughed. "Thanks, man, but I'm just what they call a shade-tree mechanic. She'll appreciate this."

Wendy put the steering wheel in the trunk of Dipper's car, he got behind the wheel, and just before he started the engine, Mabel whispered, "Goodbye, Helen. You were always a good car. I'll miss you."

They drove back, and Mabel was still so upset that they pulled through a fried-chicken place and picked up dinner. No one was going to feel like cooking.

* * *

Then on Friday, the first day of December, Dipper and Wendy got back home to learn that Mabel had been on the phone for hours. An insurance adjuster had surveyed the car and—as Fenny had predicted—wrote Helen Wheels off as a total loss. Alex told Mabel that the insurance pay-out would be a good down payment for a new, or a new-used, car. "I don't know if you can find another Carino in as good shape as yours, though," he said.

Mabel told him, "Wendy thinks that I might do better with a car that has better impact protection. How about one like Mom's? I like driving her RAV4."

"I think that's a good choice," Alex said. "But ask Wendy's advice. I can call around and see what might be available. If we find one, my advice again—ask Wendy to check it out!"

Over dinner that evening, Mabel and Wendy talked it over. "Yeah, a compact SUV's a decent car," Wendy said. "I think the ones built for the 2013 model year and later have an above-average collision protection package. Tomorrow let's go on the computer and research it."

And after dinner, Wendy went out to Dipper's car and returned with the steering wheel. "I thought you might like to have this as a souvenir of Helen Wheels," she said. "So I snagged it for you before we left the garage."

"Wow!" Mabel said. She took the wheel and pretended to steer. "Hey, could you put this in the replacement car when I get it?"

"Probably not," Wendy said with a smile. "Steering wheels aren't interchangeable. But you could hang this one on your wall or something."

"Yeah," Mabel said softly. She took a deep breath. "Oh, Helen," she said to the steering wheel. "I'm so sorry. You did your best."

"Cheer up, Sis," Dipper said. "Just think—between now and Christmas, you can look for a replacement car."

"I do love to shop," Mabel said. "OK. I'm over Helen Wheels now, may she rest in peace. She's gone. But," she said with shining eyes, "she'll never be forgotten!"

* * *


	45. Weekend Guests

**Zero Regrets**

**December**

_December 2-3, 2017)_

* * *

**45: Weekend Guests**

Saturday morning at seven-thirty, Wendy and Dipper jogged back from their morning run, Tripper having paced them as usual, and the moment Dipper opened the rear gate he knew something was up. The sliding-glass door opened, Mabel stepped out—and normally on a Saturday, she slept until at least eight or eight-thirty—and waved wildly before popping back inside like a cuckoo on a Swiss clock.

Tripper's pointed ears pricked way up, and he charged across the yard and scrambled up the steep steps to the deck.

"What's going on?" Wendy asked.

"Don't know—maybe Mabel's had a bad phone call or something."

They climbed up the steps and into the house, and Dipper's jaw dropped. "Mom! Dad!"

They sat at the dining table with cups of coffee, and they both waved. "Dipper!" his mom said, smiling. "Hello, Wendy." She rose for a hug.

Dipper said, "I'm all sweaty, Mom. What are you guys doing here?"

His dad answered: "You guys have had a rough time this week. We wanted to see you and make sure you were OK."

"I showed him my Helen Wheels souvenir," Mabel said.

Dad sighed and shook his head. "It was a good car, though, wasn't it?" He had presented it, nominally to the twins, as a present when they got their licenses, but of course Mabel had begun as the primary driver and wound up as sole owner.

"You did good when you picked her out, Dad," Mabel said, hugging him. "Hey, Wen, you and Dipper go shower and then we'll feed Mom and Dad breakfast!"

"Wait, wait," Dipper said. "You guys drove all this way this morning? What time did you start?"

"It was so early I don't remember," Alex said with a smile. "It was a straight shot up the 101 most of the way, and there wasn't much traffic."

"We left about half-past midnight," Wanda said. "We went to bed extra early yesterday to get ready, though."

"Yeah, we'll check into a motel and take a nap this afternoon," Alex said.

"No, you won't," Wendy said.

"I'll sleep on the sofa tonight," Mabel volunteered. "You guys can have my bed."

"We don't want to put you out," Wanda said.

Simultaneously, Alex said, "Thanks, Mabel, that would be fine."

Dipper chuckled. "You guys work it out. Wendy and I will shower and put on some fresh clothes."

They hurried through—Wendy didn't wash her hair, which saved her considerable time—and then came out, Wendy in her jeans and green flannel shirt, Dipper in cargo shorts, sandals, and a sloppy old tee shirt.

"What would you guys like for breakfast?" Dipper asked.

"Anything's fine," Alex said.

"How about scrambled eggs deluxe, sausages, home fries, and sourdough toast?" Wendy asked. "We still have a little pot of Gnome jam, too."

"It won't turn you into Popeye, though," Mabel assured them, earning a puzzled glance from both her parents.

"It's wild blueberry," Wendy said.

Alex nodded. "Sounds good!"

Dipper peeled and sliced the potatoes while Wendy mixed the scrambled eggs—their last seven eggs for the five of them—and then she grated in some Willamette Valley Swinging Monkey Sharp Cheddar. Meanwhile Mabel heated their big skillet and sautéed chopped green onion, basil, and Señorita jalapeños—one of Abuelita's go-to's, a mildly hot pepper that worked well in scrambles and omelets.

"You three are a well-oiled cooking machine," Mrs. Pines said. "Can we do anything?"

"Brew another pot of coffee," Mabel suggested. "The waste bin is under the sink there, the coffee filters and canister are in the cabinet right above the coffee maker."

"I got it," Alex said, coming over. He dumped the used grounds, measured out enough for ten cups of coffee, measured the water, and then reached for one of the eggshells.

"Don't put an eggshell in," Wanda said.

"It mellows the coffee, and it's the way I always make it," he said. He crushed the shell and put it into the coffee basket, atop the fresh batch of grounds.

"My dad does the same thing with campfire coffee," Wendy said. "It's fine with us."

While Dipper fried the thick, short potato wedges, Mabel loaded up the toaster—it had six slots—with sourdough bread, but she waited to pot the toast down. "I'll put on some more after the first batch is toasted," she said. Then she started ten turkey sausage links in a smaller frying pan.

"I think you can start the eggs now," Dipper said. "Potatoes will be ready in half a minute."

He took them off the burner, Wendy replaced it with the skillet containing the peppers and onions, poured in the egg mixture, and started to stir. Dipper took the plates from the cabinet and said, "Dad, how about pouring coffee for everyone?"

"On it," his father said.

Within a minute or so, they all sat down to a very hearty breakfast. "How do you eat like this and stay so thin?" Mrs. Pines asked Dipper.

"Hey!" Mabel protested. "What about me, Mabel? I weigh exactly the same as I did when I was a junior in high school!"

Dipper said, "Two things, Mom: first, this is a special meal and we don't eat like this all the time, and second, Wendy and I run for an hour five days a week, and on three days of the week, I've been doing an hour of sprints at the University."

"This is so good," Wanda said of the scrambled eggs. "You'll have to give me the recipe."

"The secret's the peppers," Mabel said. "If you put in regular jalapeños, it's too spicy unless it's like for a brunch. These you have to find at a _tienda_ or _supermarcado._ "

When they had finished and cleaned up the kitchen, Wanda went into Mabel's room to lie down for a while. Alex and the others sat in the living-room area, keeping their voices soft. "First," Alex said, "the insurance check is coming to me. I know how much it will be, and I'll advance you the money if you'll sign the check over to me. That way you can start your car hunt right away."

"Oh, Dad," Mabel said, hugging him. "You drove all this way!"

"Well, you love to drive yourself," he said. "Therefore, you're going to need a car. Simple logic."

Wendy asked, "Have you decided what kind you want, Mabes?"

"I've been looking up small SUVs online," she said. "Dad, they're pretty high-rated for safety. And Mom's had two now, and she likes hers."

"You've driven hers," Alex said. "You can handle one?"

Mabel made her old dismissive _Pffbbbt!_ sound. "Not any harder than driving Helen Wheels, Dad. And if it has a back-up camera like Mom's, that helps."

"I'd recommend last year's model," Alex said. "If you'll go for the advanced safety features, I'll pay the difference between that and the blue-book value for a standard version."

Wendy whistled. "Like collision warning, automatic emergency braking, lane assist?"

"And all-around camera coverage," Alex said.

"Will I even have to drive?" Mabel asked.

Alex put his hand on her shoulder. "You had a close call and we had a scare. We don't need any more of those."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I'm sorry—"

Ale patted her shoulder. "We heard all about it, Sweetheart. Deer ran in front of you, you tried to avoid it. It wasn't your fault."

"I'm still having bad dreams about it."

"But she's driving again," Dipper said. "She's getting over it."

"Don't get so far over it that you start taking chances behind the wheel," Alex warned.

"I'm always careful!" Mabel said. She bit her lower lip. "Except for accidents."

"That's why I'm going to insist on the safety features," he said. He held up both his hands. "I know, I know, you're all grown-up and engaged and everything and I don't have the right to insist. But I insist."

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Wanda napped until noon. Mabel took Alex down to see the walking/running trail that Dipper and Wendy had established, including the bridge they had built. Tripper showed him where the squirrels lived, where he'd once chased a rabbit for half a mile, where the bears sometimes foraged for berries, and other scenic spots if you were a dog.

It was a cool morning, temperatures in the middle forties, and with the threat of light rain coming on, so they cut the walk fairly short. When they got back, Wendy and Dipper were in the living room doing homework.

"We ought to go back home this afternoon," Alex said. "We're interrupting your studies just dropping in like this."

"Not so bad," Wendy said. "We're winding up the semester, and our finals begin a week from Wednesday. Dip and I have already turned in our research papers, and the hardest thing hanging over us right now is the lab practical in Earth Sciences. We're just reviewing for that."

"And I," Mabel said proudly, "have done all my homework after class every day. That's 'cause I don't have to worry about the theater any more this term!"

Alex and Mabel went to the study room/library with her laptop to browse used-car offerings and prices. They found three possibilities, one in Raddle Valley, about a hundred miles from Crescent City.

"Looks like a good price," Alex said.

"Yeah, but it's eight thousand more than my insurance check will be," Mabel said. "You can't pay that much extra just because it's got the safety features."

"Just watch me," Alex said. "That's nothing. Ever since you and Dipper move out, we've been saving seven thousand dollars a month just on groceries."

"Oh, yeah," Mabel said. "I'll bet."

"Hey," he said gently. "Your safety's worth a lot more to us than that, Mabel. And you said about the bad dreams? Your mom and I have had a few since we heard about the wreck. You guys were really lucky. We saw the photos of your car, all smashed to pieces. And don't tell Wanda, but I went online to look at the satellite imaging of that stretch of road. If you hadn't kept the car from crashing through the guard rail—well you wouldn't have got out of it with just some bruises. Let me do this, just for peace of mind."

Mabel nodded. "I guess. I love you guys so much."

"Well, we're used to you, too. One thing, though, before you buy this or any car—"

"I'll have Wendy check it out," Mabel promised.

"And Wanda tells me Dipper's the smart kid in the family," Alex said. "Shows what she knows! Uh—don't tell her I said that."

"Blackmail!" Mabel replied with a grin. But she didn't really mean it. Probably.

* * *

They would have taken Mr. and Mrs. Pines out to see some of the local sights—the Battery Point Lighthouse and Museum was supposed to be interesting—but a dreary rain set in before noon and lingered on. They settled for Mabel's driving her parents around the Western Alliance and the Olmsted campuses. Mrs. Pines was impressed to learn that the Forestry School was named after Wendy's grandfather—or maybe great-grandfather, Mabel couldn't remember—who had been a mogul in the logging industry back in the day and who had endowed the school.

They'd seen the drama department at Olmsted, but Mabel showed them the sleek modern Visual and Plastic Arts building—Fiedler Hall—and said, "I've got two classes in there next term, Two-Dimensional Color and Design and Fundamentals of Sculpture."

"You'll do great in those," Alex said.

"I know, right? Like Wendy'll probably be the star student in her forestry major. It's great to have a head start on stuff like that!"

Meanwhile, Dipper and Wendy finished their homework, planned for the next afternoon's study session, and got Mabel's room ready for Mr. and Mrs. Pines. That included Wendy's looking through a couple of drawers and discreetly removing some birth-control supplies.

"Pretty sure they know already," Dipper said.

"Yeah, but there's no need to drive the point home," Wendy told him. "These will go in our medicine cabinet. Even if they find them there, there's nothing to embarrass us."

"I hope Teek and Mabel will be careful during Christmas break."

"They will be," Wendy said. "Mabes has promised me. I've never known her to break a promise."

"Hope you're right," he said.

Alex and Wanda at least had another good meal with them and a good night's sleep, but they insisted on leaving for Piedmont the next morning at nine. "We won't get back home until three, even if we don't stop," Alex said. "And tomorrow's busy. I'm relocating to my new office, and your mom has Christmas shopping to do."

There was the usual awkward five minutes of standing around in the driveway, saying goodbye and drive carefully and call us when you get there, and then they drove away, heading south.

"You want to go over to Raddle Valley maybe next Saturday if the car's still on the market then?" Wendy asked Mabel.

"Yeah, I think so. The seller just listed the car, and Raddle Valley's kind of off the beaten path, so maybe people won't want to go that far to look at it. Will you guys go with me?"

"Sure," Dipper said. "Dad told us six different times, 'Don't let Mabel buy as car without having Wendy check it out.'"

"Me, too," Mabel said. "And I guess I need a little looking after."

"We all need that, Mabes," Wendy said. "So we'll do it for each other."

* * *


	46. End of Term

**Zero Regrets**

_(December 2017)_

* * *

**46: End of Term**

Saturday, December 9, found Wendy and Mabel on the road early. They'd spoken on the phone to the owner of the used-car lot in Raddle Valley, and he'd promised to call Mabel on Friday afternoon to let her know whether the RAV4 were still available. Mr. Soames had sent her exterior and interior photos of the car. It was a gleaming black , looked to be in great condition, and Soames sent her the vehicle information: Mileage, 7,208, extended warranty available, one owner. Wendy called him and said, "Has the vehicle been in an accident?"

Nope, no repairs had been done above routine maintenance.

"How come it's on the market so soon?"

Ah. Well, without going into detail, a couple had bought it new, there had been a divorce, neither wanted to make the payments, it had been repossessed by the bank, and Soames had bought the loan.

Wendy said, "I see. Any objections to her having a mechanic check it out?"

None at all.

So they got up at six, set off on the hundred-mile drive, and Dipper did his run alone. Well, no, Tripper went with him, but afterward it wasn't as much fun to shower alone.

Mr. Soames was about fifty, and like Mabel's dad, he was astonished when Wendy took the SUV into the repair bay and went over it. She used the diagnostic computers, interpreted the readouts without needing help or advice, and then she went over the maintenance records. She examined the tires—including checking the pressures—and finally, after more than two hours she gave Mabel a thumbs-up. "Looks good to me," she said. "Can we take it for a test drive?"

"Be my guest," Soames said.

"You want to ride along, or have somebody—"

"Miss, I'd trust you with any car on the lot, including mine."

"Thanks, man," she said.

Mabel drove the car around the little town of Raddle Valley, up into the foothills, out on the open highway and across a long bridge, and then back to the lot—about thirty minutes.

When they came back, Mabel hopped out and told Soames, "Wrap it up! I'll take it!"

They settled down to dealing. Soames asked five thousand as a down payment and for Mabel to take over the payments on the loan balance. "We can finance in-house, if your credit's OK," he said.

"Her dad wants to do a straight purchase. We can give you a cashier's check for seven thousand right off the bat. He can send you the balance as an e-transfer," she said.

"Then she can take delivery as soon as the money goes in," Soames said.

"Can't drive it off the lot today?" Wendy asked.

"Sorry. Company policy."

"That's your personal policy, then," Wendy said, smiling. "No exceptions?"

"If I could do it for anybody," Soames told her, "it would be for you! Best I can do is guarantee a Wednesday pick-up."

"We have to drive over from Crescent City," Wendy said. "We can be here by about four-thirty. That OK?"

"That's fine," Soames said.

"Get the papers ready," Wendy said. "Mabel has a phone call to make."

It was to Alex. Mabel told him she wanted the car. Wendy took the phone. "Hi," she said. "Looks like a good deal, a couple hundred under Blue Book, mainly 'cause the safety package is something a lot of used-car buyers don't want. I've checked it out and we test-drove it. It's in nearly new condition, but anyway, I'd go for the extended warranty—factory's good for 36,000 miles, so it's got about 28,000 left. You can extend that to 48,000, I think. Anyway, it's your call. With the insurance money, Mabel can do the down payment and bring the payments current. We'll let you know the exact balance. Wait a minute, here's Mr. Soames with the papers. I'll let you talk to him."

Soames and Alex had about a ten-minute conversation, and then Soames said, "We'll take good care of your daughter, Mr. Pines. There's also a 180-day lot warranty—if anything needs repairing, I'll do it for no charge, not even parts."

Mabel signed the papers—"This is like every test I ever had rolled into one!" Then she turned over the cashier's check to Mr. Soames.

A mechanic had come in and waited while that was going on. Then he said, "Boss, come and look at something quick."

Soames went out with him.

As Mabel and Wendy gathered up her copies of the paperwork, Soames returned with a funny expression. "You driving that Dodge Dart?" he asked.

"That's mine," Wendy said. "She's the Green Machine."

Soames nodded. "Who did the restoration?"

Wendy pointed a thumb to herself. "That would be me."

Soames looked at them both for a long minute. Then he said, "What the hell! Here's the keys, Miss Pines. I'm gonna break a rule for you. Real pleasure doing business with you! Take care of the insurance before you drive the car."

"Her dad's arranging a temporary transfer," Wendy said. "She'll be set by Monday morning."

"Then be really careful on your way back to Crescent City."

The drive back was a little slower than the trip over had been. Mabel carefully observed the speed limits. Wendy, driving behind her, kept her fingers crossed that no deer, raccoon, rabbit, or bird would zip in front of her.

Wendy's mojo, or maybe Mabel's luck, worked. They got home in the late afternoon, and Mabel's spirits were so high that not even knowing she had to finalize the insurance before driving the car to class dampened her spirits. Tripper hopped into the car and seemed to approve, or at least not to mind. Mabel asked if she could park the SUV in the garage, Dipper agreed—he'd suspected that would be her request—and moved his car out to the apron.

"I wonder if I could sleep right here tonight," Mabel said, still sitting in the drivers' seat. "Hey, Dip, let me show you the cameras and everything!

Dipper obligingly admired the SUV. The car tour didn't take all that long. As they headed back into the house, Dipper asked, "Figured out a name yet?"

"For a car like this, there's only one possible name," Mabel said "Dip, meet Black Beauty."

* * *

One of Dipper's classes and one of Wendy's wrapped up early to give students a study day. The others were on the normal schedule, which meant one day off between last class meeting and first day of exams.

The finals were in two-hour blocks. The first exam each day ran from 8:00 AM-10:00 AM, the second from 10:30-12:30, third 1:00-3:00, fourth 3:30-5:30. Night classes—neither Wendy nor Dipper had a night class, though—had a separate schedule. There were four days for exams, ending on Tuesday, December 19. Again, Dipper and Wendy caught a break: their last exam would be from eight to ten on Monday, December 18, and that was the literature final, not one they worried much about, since most of their grade came from four essays and a research paper, and those were all done.

By contrast, Mabel had it pretty easy. Her finals were shorter than theirs—essentially just the last hour of class for the term, since she had more frequent unit tests and quizzes. However, since that would have students taking too many finals in one day, Olmsted staggered the exams, so classes ended on December 12, and then the finals were over the next three days. She would be finished on Friday, December 15. "Mind if Tripper and I head back to the Falls that afternoon?" she asked Dipper.

"Go ahead," Dipper said. "Wait—when is Teek flying home?"

"Saturday the sixteenth," she said with a self-conscious grin.

"Check our medicine cabinet before you pack," he warned. "Some of your stuff's in there."

She blinked and then blushed. "Oh, yeah, I was forgetting. Thanks."

The three of them did a little cramming for the finals. It wasn't rushed—in fact, it hardly qualified as cramming. Dipper and Wendy helped Mabel out, quizzing her from the review sheets her teachers had made available. She seemed to be well-prepared, and she'd come to have a good understanding of the strategies teachers used in creating exams. Dipper didn't think she'd have much trouble. "I like the multiple-choice parts best," she confided. "The secret is in eliminating the stupidest answers and going with the least stupid one."

Unlike Mabel, who relied largely on last-minute studying and luck, all through high school Dipper had been the grind, always studying. About a third of the time he was able to exempt the final exam. It was a little bit different in college classes, he discovered, where students didn't get a chance to skip a final. Oh, special provisions were made for students who were ill, had a documented learning disability, or had a scheduling conflict, but that meant they had to take the exam at an odd time in the testing center.

So he and Wendy would do their exams as scheduled. It would take about a week for their grades to be posted, but neither of them was worried. As Wendy said, they'd have to do something spectacularly stupid to drop their averages significantly. "If we didn't even take the Earth Sciences final and I got a zero," she pointed out, "I'd still have a C plus average!" And to maintain her A, she had to make a score of seventy or higher on the final.

It was one of those courses in which the teacher makes up a comprehensive final by selecting problems from all the unit tests during the normal term. As it shook out, Wendy had a retentive memory and wound up, as they say, wrecking the curve in that course. She walked out knowing she'd made a perfect score. When Dipper asked her to go through the answers with him after he'd finished, they did it by touch telepathy.

He'd made two mistakes, which worked out to a 96, not too shabby. As for the other classes, they were pretty sure that they'd maintained at least the minimum A level—93—on the other four exams. That led them to Friday. Then they had only the English exam ahead. As for Mabel, she'd be finished with everything by three that afternoon.

She told them that instead of staying with Stan or Ford, this time she'd take the guest room in the Shack. "Abuelita's down in Mexico," she said, "and Soos and Melody might like some help with their kids. Plus, I've got to be there for the final prep for your church wedding!"

"See you on Monday afternoon," Wendy said as they helped her pack her car and strap Tripper in—he wore a special harness that let him sit in the back seat, secured to the seatbelt. "Drive carefully. And—"

"Call you when I get there," Mabel said. "Got you!"

"Your title, registration, and insurance papers—" Dipper began.

"In the glove compartment, and I have a copy of them in my purse," Mabel said. "And I'm gonna be real careful. "Bye-bye! Be good!"

She backed out of the garage—she really loved the rear camera, which gave her hash marks showing how close she was to any obstacles—and turned south, heading down to the connector to 101, the old Redwood Highway, and the way back to Gravity Falls.

* * *

Leaving Wendy and Dipper alone in the house. "It seems so quiet when they move out," Wendy said.

"Yep," Dipper said in a voice not unlike McGucket's. "They grow up so fast. Reckon we got us an empty nest, huh?"

"Looks like it, Pa," Wendy said.

"Don't hardly know what to do with ourselves," Dipper said. "Any ideas?"

They grinned at each other and at the exact same time, each of them said the same two words: "Hot tub!"

* * *


	47. Shoppers Rush Home

**Zero Regrets**

_(December 2017)_

* * *

**47: Shoppers Rush Home**

Dipper and Wendy arrived at the Shack late on Monday afternoon. The parking lot had the usual dreary winter appearance—only family cars there, Soos's Jeep and pickup, Melody's Subaru Crosstek (pink, with floral decals on the doors), and Mabel's new used car, Black Beauty. Wendy parked the Green Machine next to that, and Dipper parked his Land Runner just on the other side of the fence break.

They got out a couple of their bags and went in by way of the gift shop—the door was locked, but both Dipper and Wendy had kept their keys. Little Soos yelled, "Wendy! Dipper!" He ran up for hugs and immediately launched on a mystifying preschooler's story, of which Dipper caught only an occasional word: Dada, Mommy, Mabel, and a lot of laughter. "That's great, Soosie!" Dipper said. "Uh—where's everybody?"

Only Soos was home, dozing in front of the TV with a rerun of a _Gossiping Housewives_ episode on, but the sound turned low. He woke up. "Oh, hey, dawgs!" he said. "We've been, like, expecting you! Uh, Melody and Mabel went with Sheila over to The Dalles for Christmas shopping or some junk. They took Harmony with them to see Santa Claus."

Little Soos said, "I went already! Dada says to get your Christmas Santa in early, dawgs!"

"That's right!" Soos said. "Abuelita's down in Mexico with my aunt—aw, you guys know that already How was school and junk?"

So they sat and told him they'd had a good first term, they liked their classes, they thought their grades were good, and so on and so on. "We'll probably go out Christmas shopping tomorrow," Wendy said.

"Dawgs, ask Melody for some coupons!" Soos said. "She's got dozens of them, dudes! Dozens!"

"We'll do that," Dipper said. "Hey, can you and Melody use anything special?"

"Let me think about that," Soos said. "Do you need help to, like, unload your cars and stuff?"

They thanked him, but they each made two trips and unloaded everything, taking it upstairs. They were mildly amused to see that someone, probably Soos under Mabel's direction, had pushed both beds together and had made them up as if they were one larger bed. Tripper had heard them and came clicking upstairs to greet them. Smart as he was—he could, using blocks, almost spell about fifty words—he shared with all dogs the quality of being overjoyed to see a long-lost friend again after three days, or, for that matter, thirty minutes.

He wanted to go out, and Wendy and Dipper took him for a walk down the Mystery Trail. It was a cloudy late-fall afternoon, with the temperature stuck below fifty and a gentle wind from the east. The birds were mostly quiet, and they didn't spot any wildlife, either normal or paranormal.

"Man, when I was caretaking, I used to walk out here sometimes on afternoons like this," Wendy said. "Very calm, you know, but kinda spooky, too. The feeling you're all alone and the world's sort of closing down for the winter."

"It hit me as weird the first time we came up for Thanksgiving," Dipper said. "I mean, we'd only been here during the summer before, and the woods look a lot different with all the leaves off the oaks and all. And it's a lot quieter."

"Yeah. When I was staying here all by myself, sometimes I'd have some of my old crew come over just for company. Like Nate and Lee helped me one time when we had to fix a frozen, busted pipe—that was a nasty job—and then they came back the next day and we played video games. Couple of times Robbie and Tambry came over. But most of the time I was kind of a hermit. It would sometimes get so lonesome that I'd go over to Casa Catastrophe just to hear a little hell-raising from my brothers."

"It must have been hard," Dipper said.

"Not so much. I had time for reading and thinking. And you and I talked about every night. Plus, I made money and saved it for car stuff and college!"

"We don't have to worry about that so much now," Dipper said. "I got a surprise in the mail this morning."

"I saw the envelope from your book agent. Check?"

"Big one," Dipper said. "Book royalties for the last six months, plus the third installment of the TV money."

"We're rich!" Wendy said.

"Kind of, but I wish they'd held off for three more weeks. It's going to be a big tax bite because it came in before New Year's. I'll get Dad's CPA to take a look and tell us what the estimated tax payment should be."

Wendy laughed. "I remember when I got my very first paycheck from Soos. Stan always paid me in cash—"

"Mabel and me, too," Dipper said. "First time, he tried to pass off Stan bucks, but then Mabel had a confrontation with him, and he stuck to US currency after that."

"Well, Melody knew bookkeeping, and when I got that first paycheck, I was excited, 'cause Stan always paid me a flat rate. I mean, he said 'Fifty bucks a week,' and that's what I got, five tens or whatever. But Soos was paying me minimum wage and a bit—I think I started at ten dollars an hour at first. Anyhow, I got all excited 'cause I expected to be paid four hundred dollars that first week for forty hours of work. Looked at the check and nearly passed out. It was only three hundred take-home! And I had plans for that four hundred. But Melody told me about taxes and all. And gradually I realized I had it good, 'cause Soos covered medical insurance, too, without charging me a dime. But it was a harsh awakening."

"Yeah, well, since the publishers and my agent don't withhold anything, I have to make quarterly payments of estimated tax. This year they've been running over twelve thousand dollars a quarter! But Dad's financial advisors are investing most of what's left over for me in what they tell me is a real conservative portfolio. I hope once we're out of college we can afford your dream home and all."

"Don't worry about that, Dip," Wendy said. "If we're together, that's my dream. Dang, I get mushy when we're back in Gravity Falls!"

"I like it," Dipper said, holding her hand.

* * *

From the living allowance the financial advisors set aside for them, Dipper and Wendy had saved a Christmas-present fund, and they had some idea of what to get for their relatives and friends. The next day they drove all the way to Portland—crowded and decorated for the season—and Wendy suggested an ideal gift for Mabel. They browsed and she picked out the right design and model. "She'll love this," Dipper said. "Good thinking."

And since it was such a good idea, they picked up a couple for Alex and Wanda, too. Stan, no longer the pariah he had been in the days when his lodge brothers tolerated but neither liked nor trusted him, could make use of another practical but very nice gift. Ford was harder—they couldn't very well get him any tech gifts, since Fiddleford and the GIB organization could supply him with handy gadgets years beyond anything that the couple could buy him. So instead of getting something futuristic, they found him something nostalgic.

Sheila and Lorena were fairly easy to shop for, since Wendy talked to them often and had some sense of what they'd like. Similarly, Manly Dan would get excited over a supply of flannel shirts or a pair of new boots, but they found other stuff he would like. Wendy's brothers, even Junior, were still addicted to video games, and Wendy had cased their collection and knew what would excite them.

By the time they finished shopping, the Land Runner—Dipper had never got around to naming it—was pretty well crammed with packages, including packages of Christmas wrap and bows.

"After Christmas," Wendy said, "we're gonna shop for wrapping paper and junk during the post-holiday sales. Then we'll be set for next year." They'd also picked up a couple of boxes of Christmas cards. They planned to address them that evening and mail them the next day—only a week left until Christmas!

Dipper suggested, "Let's get some nice Christmas cards when they're on sale, too. Next year we can get them out earlier."

Very sensible. They were hungry, but settled for drive-through fast food. "I had one car stolen in this town before," Wendy said. "Not gonna risk parking in a restaurant lot, only to have some bum break in to get our Christmas loot!"

Whatever, they got it all back to the Shack, spent a couple of hours writing personal greetings and signing and addressing the cards. "I'll run these to the post office tomorrow morning," Dipper said. "I'll get some Christmas stamps for them, too."

Mabel quizzed them about the upcoming wedding plans. "So you'll take off right after the reception for your honeymoon," she said.

"Mabes," Wendy told her with a smile, "We had our honeymoon already!"

"Yeah, that was just moving into the house," Mabel pointed out. "You've got a full week before school starts again!"

"We may run down to Anaheim," Dipper said. "Wendy's never been to Disneyland."

"OK, that's a possibility. Don't make any reservations yet!" she warned.

"You're not going to buy us tickets to the park?" Dipper asked. "That would be expensive."

"I just want to tell you, don't make any plans you can't change," Mabel said mysteriously, and that's the only thing she would say.

* * *

Wednesday morning, Dipper and Wendy stopped at the Gravity Falls post office—it was packed more solidly than the stores in Portland—and stamped and mailed their cards. Back to the Shack, first they wrapped presents and then they became forced labor. Soos was hanging Christmas lights, and Dipper and Wendy had to go up the ladder to string lights along the peak of the roof, then climb on ladders to hang more lights on the eaves, outlining the Mystery Shack in colorful Christmas bulbs. Dan had supplied the Shack with a beautiful six-foot-tall fir—in a huge pot, ready to be transplanted to the yard after the holiday—and Mabel and Stan spent a few happy hours decorating it.

"In your face, Charley Brown!" Mabel said when she turned off the room lights and switched on the tree lights.

"Oy!" Stan said. "This thing could be viewed from the Moon!"

"Beautiful," Melody said. Harmony and Little Soos ran round and round it, clapping and cheering.

"Meh," Stan said. "When I was a kid in Glass Shard Beach, this one store had a tree with these kinda upside-down test-tube lights with colored liquid in 'em, and they bubbled. Loved those things. 'Course Pop wouldn't let us have a Christmas tree in our house, and a menorah don't give the same effect. Some of our friends decorated what they called Chanukah bushes. Mom would've gone for that, not Pop. But we could see all these trees in the stores, and man, I remember the one with the bubbly lights."

That evening, resting from their day of holiday tasks, Dipper and Wendy sat in front of a nice warm fire, drinking mugs of hot chocolate. Mabel and Teek were somewhere—they hadn't said where they were heading, but Dipper suspected they were cruising around, admiring the light displays of Gravity Falls, where even the water tower was, as the song says, dressed in holiday style. And Greasy's seemed to add new strands of lights every year. Now it was completely covered and one of the outstanding holiday sights, as long as you didn't actually go inside and order anything to eat.

"Soos's kids are so cute," Wendy said. "Hope they'll like the stuff we got them."

"Well," Dipper said, "it had to be something they could take to Mexico with them. We'll get them some trikes and scooters or something for their birthdays. They'll like the toys."

"Wonder what we'll get our kids when we have those twins Aunt Sallie insists we'll have one day?"

"For the boy, a Game Pal. For the girl, a My First Axe."

Wendy laughed. "I hope we can raise kids the right way! But if it turns out the girl's the bookworm and the boy's the rambunctious one—"

"We'll roll with it," Dipper said.

"So . . . what special Christmas present do you want, Dip? Give me a hint."

"I've already got it," he said. "Right here." He put his arms around her.

* * *


	48. Silent Nights

**Zero Regrets**

_(December 20-25, 2017)_

* * *

**48: Silent Nights**

Soos was floored when the Christmas card from Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel showed up in the mail. "Aw, dawgs!" he said. "This is so thoughtful! I wish we'd sent you one! Oh, wait a minute." He hurried out of the parlor and came back in a minute with a big card. "This should come by mail, but anyway, we wish you a merry holiday, dudes!"

It was a family—photo Christmas card: Melody and Soos flanking Abuelita, who sat with Harmony in her lap and Little Soos standing beside her. A small potted Christmas tree stood on the other side of her chair. "We took this like back in October," Soos confided. "We just decorated this tiny little tree so people would be fooled into thinking it was Christmas time."

"We won't tell a soul," Wendy promised.

"Aw!" Mabel had opened the card and read aloud: "To three of our favorite people in, like, the whole world, a Merry Christmas and a bright Hanukkah, is that spelled right? From Abuelita, Harmony, Jesús Junior, Melody, and me, Soos, with lots of love."

"Sweet card, Soos," Wendy said. "Thank you!"

That really was the first day since classes had ended that Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel could relax. Mabel's grades were posted online—as she expected, she got one A-plus, three A's, and one B, for an overall average of 93.2. "Barely a 4.0, but still a 4.0," she said. "How come the colleges use that four-point range?"

"Ask Grunkle Ford," Dipper suggested. "It gets to be really complicated when you start calculating graduation points."

"Olmsted doesn't have those," Mabel said. "Just you have to have an overall GPA of 2.0 or better and at least 160 hours total."

"Little different at WAU," Dipper said. "We get three credit hours per course instead of four. We get a grade in each course. OK, for, say, English, if you get an A in the class, you multiply 4.0 by three to get the GQP—that means graduation quality points—so that would be a twelve. If you get a B, you multiply 3.0 by three, for nine GQP's, or for a C it's 2.0 by three, for six GPQ's, and so on for every class. When you do your graduation review, you have to have a minimum of 250 GQP's."

"My brain hurts," Mabel complained. "I like our way better."

On the Friday before Christmas, Dipper's and Wendy's grades were posted—both were solid A students, all grades 4.0, and both had an asterisked note that they were on the President's List for the term. Stan, interested, asked if that was like a "crap list." "Is the Prez out to get you?"

"It's an honors list, Grunkle Stan," Dipper explained. "One notch above the Dean's list. If we can hang onto that, we'll eventually graduate with honors."

"Lah de dah," Stan said, but he was grinning, and he winked. "As my dad would say—I'm impressed."

They sat in a waiting area of the Portland airport, waiting for Wanda and Alex's plane. The two had decided to fly instead of drive in order to spend more time with family over the holidays. The presents they had bought for everyone had arrived the day before, delivered by Fast Delivery Express, plain brown-boxed packages that Mabel secretly shook, her ear pressed against them. It didn't do her any good, but her curiosity demanded at least that gesture.

Stan and Dipper had gone over in the Stanleymobile, but Wendy and Mabel had decided to stay in the Shack. The old car was roomy, but with the Pineses' luggage and—probable—extra packages, it might be crowded. Stan had allowed Dipper to drive part of the way—handling the long Diablo was like driving a tank—but outside of Portland he'd asked Dipper to pull off at a hamburger place. They went inside so Stan could use the restroom and buy a cup of coffee—which he would pour out before finishing it. "Just temporary rent of the parking slot," he explained to Dipper. Then they changed drivers for the final few miles to the airport.

Now noon was coming on, and the plane from the Oakland airport was due at 12:10. It was on time, but it took Alex and Wanda about half an hour to appear, each with a carry-on. Hugs all around, and Stan said, "Baggage claim now?"

"We have a few things," Alex admitted.

On the way, Stan asked, "Hey, did you hear about the buzzard couple that were gettin' on an airplane, but the guy at the desk says, 'Hey, you can't carry roadkill possums on a plane!' and Mrs. Buzzard says, 'Sure we can. We're allowed carrion!' Get it?"

Both Dipper's Mom and Dad laughed, more out of family loyalty than amusement, Dipper thought.

Yep, one big suitcase, plus four boxes, much as Dipper had expected. They got a luggage cart and Stan hauled the Stanleymobile around to the pick-up area. They loaded the trunk and, to some extent, the back seat with the luggage and boxes. Then everyone climbed in and Stan asked, "Hungry for lunch?"

"We could eat," Alex said.

"Can you hang on for like half an hour?"

They could. It was closer to 45 minutes, but Stan took them to the Bridgeside, a good restaurant with a view of the Columbia River and the impressive Bridge of the Gods. They enjoyed lunch and then headed on the last leg to the Falls. On the way, Alex talked about his new job—"I can work from home half the time," he said. "They let me pick my crew, and I think we've got an outstanding group." He was taking vacation time until January, when he would move into his bigger office.

For the next hour and some minutes of the trip, Stan encouraged Wanda and Alex to tell a story—"I hear you two had some kind of spooky encounter when you were in college."

"Oh," Alex said. "The mirror demon!"

Wanda asked, "Do you really want to hear this, Uncle Stan? Dipper?"

"Love to!" Dipper said.

And so Alex and Wanda launched into their memorable encounter with Bloody Mary, back when Wanda was an RA in her dorm and some of the students on her floor had—oh, well, it's a story too complicated to summarize. Maybe later.

Anyway, they arrived at Stan and Sheila's place, and Mabel ran, Wendy sauntered, out to greet them. "We're gonna have the Christmas tree and all up at the Shack," Stan said. "And then the next day the wedding at the Corduroys' church. You set up the computer dealy with Rabbi Lowenstein, Alex?"

"Oh, yeah," Alex said. "I'll take care of the hotspot for connectivity, and David will co-conduct with Dr. Gaspell. It's all arranged."

"Now, on Christmas afternoon," Mabel said, "somebody has to go over to the airport to drive Billy in. I'll do it—"

"Deputy Director Hazard is coming in for the wedding," he said. "I hope you two don't mind—"

"Glad to have her!" Wendy said. "Right, Dip?"

"Sure," he said. "So—what, is she going to drive Billy over?"

"In a way," Ford said. "I've taken the liberty of speaking to his parents, and they've agreed. Amy will fly a helicopter here from Portland. Billy will ride along as passenger." He looked a little embarrassed. "Ordinarily, this wouldn't be possible, but we're combining her trip to attend the wedding with official business. She's going to formally occupy her new office after Christmas. I'll drive Billy back to the airport next Friday for his trip back to Piedmont."

"He'll love that!" Mabel said.

"I almost wish I could go along," Wendy said. "A chopper's a great way to fly!"

Things were shaping up. As Mabel, Dipper, and Wendy walked up the hill after dinner, Mabel suddenly asked, "What's that?"

"What?" Wendy asked.

"Something's touching my face."

Dipper turned his flashlight beam upward. "It's snowing, look."

"Yay! Snow!" Mabel yelled.

It was just a flurry, swirls of small, delicate flakes. The temperature was somewhere in the twenties, and they stood for awhile on the lawn of the Shack. Tripper, excited, chased around, snapping at the air, though the snowfall wasn't nearly heavy enough to warrant his trying to catch very many flakes. "Don't think it's gonna stick," Wendy said. "But the weatherman says that we may get a white Christmas, so keep your fingers crossed. Only not so hard that we get a blizzard!"

Dipper said, "Remember that year when the Gnomes were stealing everybody blind? Your dad and brothers were away doing Apocalypse training, and we had to go and sort of dig out your driveway?"

Oh, yeah. And the whole business with the little kids that the Gnomes had taken under their wing when their dad had vanished and all—

They reminisced, but their ears and noses were turning numb, so they went inside to chat with Melody and Soos—the kids were bedded down—about past Christmases. Later on, before they went upstairs to bed, Wendy and Dipper stepped out on the porch. "Snow's almost ended," she said.

"It's so quiet," Dipper said.

"Too bad we didn't bring your guitar," Wendy said. "I'd like to hear your Christmas song right now."

Oh, yeah, He wasn't particularly proud of it—the tune needed work, and he kept thinking he ought to revisit it and refine the lyrics, but standing there, he softly sang the song for her:

* * *

_All the Valley lies sleeping_

_Beneath a blanket of white,_

_A bright silver moon is gleaming,_

_On a still, cold, star-shimmering night._

_Across the hills as we're dreaming,_

_Drift gentle and musical calls,_

_An old snowy owl is saying,_

_It's Christmas in Gravity Falls._

* * *

He sang it all the way through. "Have to work on that some time," he said.

"I like it just the way it is," Wendy told him. "Let's go to bed and warm each other up, OK?"

That sounded good to him.

* * *

On Saturday morning they drove over to the church, where Reverend Gaspell met them in his office. "On Tuesday, I'll have the heat on early in the sanctuary, so by the time you get here, it'll be warm. Right now it's freezing in there."

But his office was warm. He was a kindly man, the church a deliberately non-denominational one. The Corduroys were nominally Presbyterian, but Dan held a grudge against some of the Gravity Falls Presbyterians—heck, he held a grudge against about thirty per cent of the population of the Valley—and for years he and his family had attended services here.

Dr. Gaspell explained that the ceremony was not, strictly speaking, a wedding, since Dipper and Wendy were already married, but a reaffirmation. "In Judaism, it's called a re-consecration. So Rabbi Lowenstein and I will be affirming that the two of you are affirming your dedication to and love for each other in the eyes of Heaven. Let's talk just a little about what that means, since it's a very solemn step to take."

It was a pleasant talk, and Wendy and Dipper felt less nervous about the service than they had to begin with. It was a small church—it could seat about 200 if they didn't mind crowding in—and Wendy said, "Well, everybody and his brother came to the civil ceremony, so we can keep this just to family and a few friends."

Dipper asked if it was possible not to have a bride's side and a groom's side. Dr. Gaspell chuckled. "Absolutely. You know, in the eyes of the church, when a man and woman marry, they become one. Makes sense that we just let people sit where they want."

"So," Dipper said, "we're thinking that after the service, we'll have a reception. Soos has offered the Shack, and that's all right with us, because Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford have said they'll organize the clean-up so Soos and Melody won't have to worry about it. We'll invite special friends to come to that."

"Gnomes and Multibears?" asked Dr. Gaspell, smiling.

"If he's not hibernating," Wendy said.

"I think he'd wake up for something as important as this."

* * *

Mabel banned them from the parlor, which she was already decorating, with Teek's help. They drove up and visited with Aunt Sallie that afternoon, inviting her to the wedding and the reception.

"Seems kinda funny, after you're already married," she teased. "But sure, I'd love to come. I'll get Danny to give me a ride down. And it doesn't matter to me one little bit, Wendy, but do Danny a favor—wear a dress this time around, all right? He'd just love to see you in a wedding gown."

"I'm gonna have a beautiful one," Wendy said. "At least, Mabel tells me I am! I haven't seen it yet. I have to have a final fitting tomorrow, which will also be my first fitting. And Stan's already rented Dipper a tuxedo."

"I'll look like a penguin, he says," Dipper told her.

"One thing, though—Mabel asked me to do it, but I absolutely am not bringing her pigs down. If you want, you can visit them after, but pigs that size don't transport easy, and I don't want to make 'em sick. Let Mabel understand that. Can't fit both of them into a car or even Danny's pickup, so for their comfort and safety, gotta leave 'em home."

"I think Mabel can deal with that," Dipper said.

On the way back down to Gravity Falls that afternoon, another snowfall began, not a very serious one. It speckled lawns and sparsely frosted parked cars but trailed off without much accumulation.

"I kinda hope we do get some snow by Monday," Wendy said. "So—after the church service, what are we planning, Dip?"

"I think," Dipper said, "the family's doing all the planning for us. I'm betting it's a trip to Disneyland. Dad was astonished that you'd never been."

"Well, it'll be nice," Wendy said. "Long as we're back at school by the fourth."

Since they'd already preregistered, they didn't have to worry about being on campus on Wednesday, January 3, for registration day, but Thursday, January 4, was the first day of the winter/spring term.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Dipper said. "You can do Disneyland in two days if you want."

That evening, by scraping up all the snow on the vehicles in the Shack parking lot, Mabel, Little Soos, and Harmony were able to build a snowman! A seven-inch-tall snowman, with baby-button eyes, a sliver of orange peel in place of a carrot nose, and a smile made of a piece of curved red yarn. He wore a thimble for a hat, and the kids had their photos taken with him and Mabel, out on the Museum porch.

They left him there when it was past the little ones' bedtime. As they saw the kids off to bed, Mabel said to Dipper, "You know what would be funny? If that was a magic thimble and he came to life tonight!"

"Don't even say that," Dipper cautioned. Remember—"

And Wendy and Mabel knew what he was about to say and beat him to it: "This is Gravity Falls!"

* * *


	49. All Presents and Accounted For

**Zero Regrets**

_(December 25, 2017)_

* * *

**49: All Presents and Accounted For**

Christmas morning! Wendy, Mabel, and Dipper joined Soos and Melody way too early, because Little Soos woke up at four-thirty, he woke up Harmony, and both wanted to see what Santa had brought.

The adults sat in their pajamas and robes and watched the kids tear into their presents—a trike for Little Soos, a Big Wheel for Harmony, a set of action figures for him, a soft cuddly dolly for her, and so on and so on. "Now, dawgs," Soos said, "we can't take all this stuff with us to Mexico, so each of you, pick out something that's small enough to be put in a suitcase and you can take that on the plane. But until Wednesday, play with everything as much as you want, and it'll be here waiting for you when we come back with Abuelita in the springtime!"

However, to show Abuelita all the wealth, the kids posed for about a dozen photos with their new toys.

Eventually they got sleepy and went back to bed for a while. Soos, Melody, Wendy, Mabel, and Dipper didn't. Melody made a big frittata for their breakfast, and they ate before showering and getting dressed.

At the more civilized hour of nine, both Grunkles and their wives and Alex and Wanda came up the hill, bearing gifts, and they had a family gift exchange. "Save out at least one present each," Dipper advised Wendy and Mabel. "So Billy won't feel self-conscious when he gets here this afternoon and we give him his gifts."

Mabel opened her main gift from Dipper and Wendy. "What is this?"

"It's a dashcam system, Mabes," Wendy said. "I'll install it in Black Beauty for you."

"So it's like—oh, I know what these are! How does it work?"

"There's a manual in the box," Dipper told her. "Basically, this gives you a view of the road ahead of you, the road behind you, and the interior of the car. If you have a collision, it automatically saves everything from half a minute before until a minute after the car completely stops. Or if you want, you can save the video any time by touching a couple of buttons. It's got a high-end SD card, and you can transfer the video to a computer or camera. Or you can use Bluetooth and a special recorder."

"So if a suicidal deer runs in front of me again, I can identify it!" Mabel said.

"Also," Wendy told her, "it records your GPS position and vehicle speed. Just be sure you always go the speed limit or slower, just in case. If you have an accident and need to use the video in court or anything, speeding will count against you."

"That's a great present," Alex said. Which was good, since he and Wanda got the same cameras for their cars.

"Sorry I can't install them for you," Wendy said. "But it's pretty straightforward. Call me if you have any problems."

Mabel also got a brand-new notebook computer, very handy for carrying in a backpack to class. Wendy and Dipper got a thick envelope. "Don't open it yet," Wanda said, smiling.

Ford said, "My present, Mabel, is intangible. Our Agents take a four-day tactical driving course—two weekends. I've arranged for you to take the course any time you want. It teaches you how to handle a car in extreme situations—obstacle avoidance, emergency maneuvering, and so on."

"After that," Stan told her, "you could drive the Batmobile!"

"How about the Stanleymobile?" Mabel asked.

Stan crossed his arms and shook his head. "Uh-uh. For that, you'll need the graduate course."

More presents, and more mystery: big boxes for Wendy and Dipper that they were forbidden to open. They brought up the very end.

"This first!" Mabel said, handing Dipper a package and another to Wendy. "These are from me."

Dipper opened his. "A ukulele?" he asked.

"If you can play a guitar, that should be easy," Mabel said. "It's only got four strings."

Wendy opened hers. It was a floral-patterned beach cover and a broad-brimmed white sun hat. "Very pretty, thanks," she said.

Then presents from Stan and Ford—carry-on luggage. And packed—lightweight summer shorts and shirts for Dipper, similar clothing for Wendy. "What's all this?" she asked.

"Now the envelope," Alex said. "A little something for your honeymoon."

"Whoa!" Dipper said. "Airline tickets? Hotel reservations?"

"Hawaii?" Wendy asked. "For real?"

"Don't mess with Pele while you're there!" Mabel advised.

"We'll drive your cars back to the house for you," Stan said. "You got everything you need in the luggage, and all you gotta buy for the time you're there will be your food and maybe toiletries. You fly out of Portland on Wednesday and back on January 2. Ford and me will meet you at the airport and drive you down to Crescent City."

"And be sure to pack a bag with winter clothes," Ford said. "We'll bring that to the airport because you'll need it here, but not there."

Wanda added, "You've got three nights on the Big Island, then a flight to Maui and three nights there before you fly back. We loved Maui. We hope you do, too."

"You guys are great," Wendy said, since for the moment Dipper looked speechless.

* * *

When Little Soos woke up for the second time, he remembered the tiny snowman and went to visit him, but came back inside visibly upset. "He's gone!"

"He probably melted," Mabel told him. "Every snowman has to melt sooner or later." But he led her to the porch, and if the snowman had melted, somehow he had managed to take the thimble, sliver of orange slice, buttons, and yarn with him. She returned looking puzzled. "Hey, Dip," she said, "how cold did it get last night?"

Dipper looked it up on his phone. "Pretty cold," he said. "The low was 22, and right now it's just 26."

"And snow melts at, um, 32, right?"

"Well, that's the freezing point. So probably a degree or so higher, but yeah, close to that."

"This is strange," she murmured.

The clouds grew darker and apparently lower, with the heavy look of impending snow. Ford kept going to the door to peer up at the sky. Then in the early afternoon he got a phone call.

Amy Hazard was on the other end. "Just checking in before we take off, Chief," she said. "We've got cold conditions, light overcast."

"Pretty heavy cloud cover here," Ford said. "Perhaps we should abort. You might want to rent a car—"

"No, if we leave right now we should be able to avoid the precip," she said. "And I'm instrument-rated. The ceiling looks to be around eight thousand, so we should be all right. Give me a heads-up if snow begins, though. Use 123.075, 00042. We'll be PIH003. Repeat, please."

Ford had scribbled the numbers on the back of his hand. He read them back. "Roger that," Hazard said.

"I think perhaps we'll change the landing zone," Ford said. "There are too many trees too close to the parking area here. I'll be in touch."

He pulled Stan away from the family. "Stanley, I need a spot for the helicopter to land, away from trees, a nice open space, level. Any suggestions?"

"We got the concert park," Stanley said at once. "Great big parking lot right behind it. That do?"

"I should have thought of that myself. Yes, it's optimal. Will you come and help me?"

"Sure," Stan said.

"Perhaps Wendy and Mason might come along as well," Ford said. "Billy might be a little apprehensive, and their presence would reassure him."

At three, the snow still held off. By then, Mabel had gone over to Teek's to visit his family. Ford and Stan stowed some supplies, and then they, along with Wendy and Dipper, drove over to the arena where Woodstick made its annual appearance. In the parking lot, where a light wind felt knife-edged with cold, they used a chalk line marker to lay out a twenty-foot diameter circle and then to add cross lines in the center of it. The circle was not perfectly round, but close enough.

Ford used a satellite-relay radio to get in touch with Hazard and give her the precise GPS coordinates.

"Thank you, ground," she said in response. "PIH003 is currently twelve miles out, altitude 1535, ground speed 80 knots, ETA is sixteen minutes from . . . mark. PIH003 over."

In less than a quarter of an hour they heard the _thap-thap-thap_ of the approaching copter. It hove into view from the east, circled the parking lot as Ford radioed the wind direction (north) and speed (three knots).

Hazard acknowledged and the sleek chopper descended, kicking up dust and a cold rush of air. Dipper saw Billy in the cabin, waving, and he waved back. Then the helicopter touched down, Hazard shut off the engine, and the blades slowed. Hazard hopped out, came around and opened the door for Billy, and he scrambled down and ran over. "Did you see me?" he asked.

"We saw you!" Wendy said. "Fun ride, wasn't it?"

"It was great!" Billy said.

Ford was conferring with Hazard. She waited until the others had retreated from the landing zone, then fired the engine up and the chopper lifted off, tilted, and droned away to the north, the chopper accelerating as it gained altitude.

"Where's she goin'?" Stanley yelled over the engine sound.

"That craft is going to be permanently stationed at our new base," Ford said. "You remember—it was where the family was briefly interned, and Wendy came out to try to rescue everyone. It's only twenty-two miles away, and there's a Company car waiting for her. She'll drive back down and will be our guest this evening."

"Some Christmas for her," Stan said.

"GIB personnel are used to it," Ford said. "But we'll try to make up for it tonight and tomorrow."

* * *

Billy excitedly told them about the plane trip and then—even better—the helicopter flight. Even though he realized that Billy had changed, that now he embodied Bill Cipher, he was still a kid. Dipper listened carefully for signs that Bill's consciousness was taking over—but if it was, Billy's human side so modified it that it didn't come through.

"Hey!" Billy yelled when Ford parked in the Shack lot. "Look! It's snowing!"

Indeed it was. And this time the snow looked as if it meant business and intended to stick around for a spell. Mabel and Teek showed up a few minutes later, and Billy exchanged gifts with her and Dipper. He gave Mabel a gold necklace with a shooting-star pendant. "Aw," she said, "this is beautiful! Thank you!"

"It's not a hundred per cent gold," he said shyly. "But it's gold-plated."

"I love it," she said, fastening the chain around her neck.

He gave Dipper a compact photo printer—just a bit larger than pocket-sized—that connected to a phone by Bluetooth and printed out 4x6-inch pictures. "Cool!" Dipper said. "We're going on a trip soon, and I'll make photos to send to you!"

In return, Billy got a Switch game system, plus a gift certificate so he could select games to play on it. "Wow!" he said. "Mom and Dad said maybe I could get one later—wait, you talked to them, didn't you?"

"Well," Wendy said, "we asked them if they had any ideas of something you really wanted."

"Thanks!" he said. "Hey! Look at this! It comes with the Ghost Harassers game!"

"You can even play it on the plane when you fly," Dipper said.

They spent some time catching up—school was better for Billy than it used to be, because he'd begun to stand up to the bullies. He was interested in Mabel's, Wendy's, and Dipper's college experiences. "It's like high school," Mabel told him, "but not exactly. You get to know that you've got a lot more, I guess, freedom? But a bunch more responsibility, too."

And she performed for Billy a carefully censored half-hour version of the musical. It didn't have all the adult elements, but it made him laugh. Most notably, the changes included a significant lack of f-bombs.

They talked about the church wedding, coming up in, wow, just about seventeen hours off now. "Then," Dipper said, "Wendy and I are going off for a honeymoon trip."

"But I'm staying here," Mabel said. "They didn't invite me. Boo! Kidding! Anyway, I'll stay here, and me and Teek will go out with you and have some fun in the snow! And see the Christmas sights in Gravity Falls!"

"I'd like that!" Billy said.

By the time Amy Hazard arrived, three inches of snow covered the ground. Stan made a call to Tyler Cutebiker, the mayor, to make sure the snowplows would clear the ways for the wedding the next day—the forecast was for six to ten inches accumulation, but the temperature was low and the snow was very dry, not the kind that lent itself easily to building snowmen.

Oh, and Little Soos never found the tiny missing snowman.

Soon enough he forgot it.

Though that wasn't the end of the story . . . ah, well, maybe later.

* * *


	50. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye

**Zero Regrets**

_(December 26-31, 2017)_

* * *

**50: So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye**

Just family and a few friends, but the church was packed that December morning. Alex and Ford had set up a monitor and camera so Rabbi Lowenstein could take part in the service. Pacifica had showed up, with her parents. Grenda and Marius had flown in by means of a private jet. Candy and her boyfriend, whose name Dipper didn't catch, was there. Lee and Nate with girlfriends. Thompson with his new bride, Vanilla. Three or four of Wendy's teachers from high school. The McGuckets. Tyler Cutebiker and a friend. Inconspicuous, in the back corner, sat Deputy Director Hazard.

And the families—the Corduroys, of course, Dan's sons and his sister Sallie, then Alex and Wanda, Stan and Sheila, Ford and Lorena. Mabel had outdone herself—the church was colorful and fragrant with out-of-season flowers.

Not quite as nervous as he had been for the civil ceremony—yeah, right—Dipper stood up front with best man Teek at his elbow as, once again, the music began (this time the traditional "Here Comes the Bride," courtesy of Mrs. Whittley, the eighty-year-old church organist), Wendy came down the aisle on her dad's arm.

 _Oh, my God!_ With her hair up, her veil in place, and especially in that lacy, full white wedding gown, Wendy was the most beautiful vision he could imagine. Mabel had been firm, and this was his first glimpse of her in that gown. Dan, of course, was bawling like a baby.

Since this was a reaffirmation, Dan didn't have to respond to the "who presents this woman" line, which was just as well. He was beyond speaking.

Reverend Gaspell, beaming, said softly, "Please be seated." Then he spoke for just a few minutes about the sacred and beautiful nature of marriage, about how the most fortunate people found their soul mates, and about these two fine young people who had already demonstrated their love for each other.

Over the computer hookup, Rabbi Lowenstein got a little laugh with "So what can I say? He took my best lines!" However, he found a few things to say about family, about love, and about how the Lord Himself said it is not good for us to be alone. "An ideal marriage," he said, "unites two people who are better together than they could possibly be apart. Let us solemnize this marriage in the expectation and the hope it will be as ideal as we believe it will be."

Dipper and Wendy repeated their vows to each other—they had written some out, but they were no improvement over the ones they had extemporized at the civil service. Not worse, but not any better! To tell the truth, they both shed a few happy tears. At the conclusion, Reverend Gaspell said, "In the eyes of the church, your marriage has been solemnly yet joyfully recognized."

And Rabbi Lowenstein recited the Seven Blessings and had Wendy and Dipper sip from a small glass of wine. Then Mabel, again the Maid of Honor and in a glamorous gown of her own, wrapped the glass in a napkin and Dipper stamped it.

"Mazel tov!" Mabel yelled, joined—surprisingly—by Stan and Dan Corduroy whom Stan must have coached.

Dipper and Wendy kissed and went down the aisle to a joyful hymn—Dipper didn't recognize it—and out into the snowy landscape, where they faced a poser.

A dozen Gnomes stood on either side, with tiny sabers (plastic, bought at Toys for Us) raised and crossed. The gown made jumping impracticable, so Wendy and Dipper did a slalom, weaving down the line. Alex had slipped out and waited with Ford's Lincoln. They rode back to the Shack in that, changed from their wedding finery, and settled in for a two-hour reception before Stan tapped Dipper's shoulder and said, "Time to leave, guys."

Dipper's mom hovered a bit—"Do you have the tickets? Do you have the reservations? Have you packed everything? Are you sure?"

But Stan had loaded it all in the Stanleymobile already. As they started off for Portland, he gruffly said, "It was beautiful, kids."

Then to the airport. And the flight westward, taking off in early afternoon and—since the plane chased the sun—landing in Hilo on the island of Hawaii after a six-hour flight that landed, by the clock, three hours after it had begun.

Their hotel room was on the fifth floor, a corner room with a view of the open Pacific and another overlooking a swimming pool and beach. As they unpacked, Dipper found something small and tissue-wrapped inside one of the shoes packed in their biggest suitcase, the one they'd checked.

"What the hey?" He unwrapped a miniature glass bottle of—according to the label—Beefeater gin.

"There's a note," Wendy said.

It was from both Stan and Ford. Stan had written

* * *

_Kids, don't drink this yourself. Take it up to the crater of that volcano, OK? And leave it there as a gift to Pele. Dip and Mabel got into a little trouble with her once, and she loves gin, so treat her with respect and she'll make sure you have a good time there. As they say, a low ha!_

* * *

Ford had added

* * *

_I concur with Stanley's advice. I have investigated some manifestations of Madame Pele, and there is something to the stories. I would not advise having the temerity to ask for a blessing, but at least salute her and thank her for any help she might give you. And by the way, the word is ALOHA._

* * *

That was a wonderful evening, making love with an Island night deep outside the windows. And the next morning another Stan note let them know that a specific car rental company would let Wendy—but not Dipper—rent and drive a car for the regular rate, plus an underage-driver fee. Both of which Stanley had pre-paid.

They got a two-door Jeep. It was an exhilarating drive up to the summit of Kilauea, where a park guide noticed their bottle and showed them where they could discreetly pour the gin into a fissure. "Thanks, Madame Pele," Wendy said. "We love your island and we promise not to do anything to hurt it."

"We offer you this gift," Dipper added.

They held hands, looking at the crater, at the landscape spread out around them. Telepathically, Dipper asked, — _I think our marriage is ideal so far. How about you, Mrs. Corduroy-Pines?_

_I feel the same, Mr. Corduroy-Pines. No regrets at all. Zero regrets._

And the drive down was lovely, through a brief rain shower and then they had to pull off to take photos of the most glorious rainbow either of them had ever seen. They made it over to Kona and had memorable cups of coffee. They visited the lovely North Shore. On a commuter plane, they later flew to Maui, right over Oahu on the way. Looking down, Dipper said, "That's Diamond Head! I've seen it in a thousand movies, but I never realized it was hollow!"

"It's a volcano," Wendy said, leaning to gaze through the window.

They took the Road to Hana—though, forewarned, they did not drive themselves, but took a guided tour. Beautiful, beautiful. They took a ride on a real submarine. They lazed on the beach.

It was a glorious week, and nothing paranormal, not one single little thing, occurred. They spoke to Mabel on the phone, who said things in Gravity Falls were boring, and that they'd had even more snow. She and Teek were tentatively planning for her to visit his film school over spring break. Soos and family were away in Mexico. When she was feeling lonely, she went up the hill to the Shack and wandered around, making sure everything was all right and sometimes napping in their old room.

"It still has splinters!" she reported.

"I hope there's no goat eating my bed," he told her.

"Aw, Brobro," she said. "We had some good times here."

"We will again," he assured her.

"Long-distance hug."

"Long-distance pat."

Let's leave it at that. Our friends have grown up quite a bit, but as Stan once said, you can't help growing up, but that don't mean you have to grow old.

I have a feeling that applies to them. It's been a ride, but we'll wind it up for now on the last day of the year, with Mabel happy in the Falls and Wendy and Dipper happy in the islands, rested and content and ready for all the adventures ahead, grateful for all the friendship and love behind them.

Aloha.

_Qeb Mfkbp hfap exsb hkltk ilsb xka ixrdeqbo,_

_Ibq'p tfpe qebj x exmmfiv bsbo xcqbo._

_Fk jbjlov fq'p xitxvp x prjjbo'p axv._

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who read and kind of liked my stories, thank you so much. This ends my AU for now. No more near-daily updates, but now and then I'll check back in. If you see the gang before I do, tell them hi for me.
> 
> Much gratitude to Alex Hirsch, who gave us such a transcendent show, one that all ages can enjoy . . . and love.
> 
> And remember—Gravity Falls isn't on any maps. But it's out there somewhere in the woods, waiting. Take a trip, if only in your imagination. It's always there for you to find.


End file.
